Temporary Mistake, Permanent Fix
by Chappy-the-Bunny
Summary: Mistakes happen. A slip of the tongue, a broken glass in the dishwasher, or an embarrassing typo in the middle of a text message. They're small hindrances to everyday life, yet they can all be fixed by either an apology, a dust pan, or an asterisk. [ Complete summary in the beginning of Chapter 1 ]
1. Sunrise, Sunset

**Summary**: Mistakes happen. A slip of the tongue, a broken glass in the dishwasher, or an embarrassing typo in the middle of a text message. They're small hindrances to everyday life, yet they can all be fixed by either an apology, a dust pan, or an asterisk. There is one thing - and only one - however, that Levi has never considered to be a mistake, and that is a tattoo. It's not because he's been a tattoo artist for over a decade, and it's not because he's owned his own tattoo shop for half of that. It's because he's a man who lives by the past and believes in its importance. So, why? Why erase something that, at one point in time, you wanted to be a part of your body forever?

* * *

**Temporary Mistake, Perfect Fix**

If there's one thing I dislike more than cold coffee or car taxes, it's mornings. I have never been, and never will be, a morning person.

And I'm not gonna lie, people have argued with me on this. "Oh, but isn't the way the sun filters in through the window blinds so pretty?" No. The sun doesn't filter. A fish tank filters. The sun forces its way into your humble abode and tickles your eyeballs whether you want it to or not. "But, Levi! You're an artist! How can you possibly deny the beauty of a sunrise?" Correction: I'm a _tattoo_ artist - still an artist, but of a different breed - and the answer is simple, really.

I find beauty in _sunsets_.

Have you ever taken a minute to Google the words "sunrise" and "sunset"? If not, I guarantee you there's a difference. Sunrises are _bright_, _too _bright, to the point of nearly blinding - but, hey, if that's what you're into first thing in the morning, then I'm not one to judge. Onto the the overall appearance of a sunrise, it's _okay_, but if you ask me, the colors and the clouds are actually pretty weak. I'm going to go all out and call them _dull_.

And then there's sunsets. Deep, rich hues of reds and oranges and purples. Soft tones of smooth and murky shadows. It's the perfect triumph of the day, but it's also the sweet surrender to the night. But the best part is that it's like a gift from the world, after putting up with all of the crap that it's made you face throughout the day. It's like the sky is saying, "Here you go. You did good today. Take a minute to sit back and relax."

And relaxing is what I _would _have been doing if the morning sun wasn't scraping against my eyelids.

Ever since I moved into this small, studio apartment, I've never had to keep an alarm. Why be awoken by the power ballad of an electronic nightmare, when your pupils can be poked and pierced by a medium-sized star? Hey, it's not a secret that I find sunrises unpleasant, but alarm clocks are even worse.

That's when, as I do every Godforsaken morning, I curse my existence and roll out of bed. I barely have to take a step before I'm in the den, and with a turn of my right heel, I'm already in the bathroom. Yeah, when I said my apartment was small, I wasn't kidding.

Because I'm usually running about five minutes late, it's a rare occurrence for me to actually stop and _think_ like most people do when they're in the shower. I hardly have time to run shampoo through my hair, let alone make a detailed schedule for the next twelve hours of my day. But for whatever reason, this morning, I was actually five minutes _early_.

So, I took my time - time that I was legitimately grateful to have - as I slid my soapy fingers along the dips and curves of my arms and legs. It had been a while since I'd had the chance to enjoy what it felt like to touch myself, and not in self-pleasuring way. Just smoothing my hands up and down my dampened limbs, tracing the curls and the definition of my ink, it made me feel oddly at ease.

But five minutes was five minutes, and although it was good to have extra seconds on the clock, I had to use them wisely.

After my brief shower, I dried off and threw the towel into the hamper. I'd probably have to do a load of laundry later, but that was "future" me's problem. What "present" me needed to focus on was getting dressed and getting out the front door before my neighbors took their three kids off to their range of sporting events. I mean, God bless those kiddies for taking an interest in my inked-up skin rather than making a break for the hills, but now wasn't the time for all of the open-ended questions that came with having as many tattoos as I did. I was already running late again. Oops.

Just as I was about to peel out of my parking spot and push the limits of legality, I remembered that I'd left the credit card that I used _exclusively_ for my morning coffee back on the kitchen counter. Why I'd taken it out of my wallet in the first place, I really didn't know. That was a question for "past" me. Groaning irritably, I shifted the gear shaft into reverse and comprised that I'd just have to tough it out and use the rusty, old coffee pot that the last shop owner had left behind, the same pot that Hanji uses for her own coffee fix every three hours. With how often she uses it, and the fact that she hasn't died from an incurable disease by now, I'd have to say that it's _probably_ safe, but not recommended.

Because I'm late, but not as late as I _usually _am, I get caught up in all of the red lights. Literally _all _of them. Just when I think I'm about to make it through a stale green light - nope. Yellow. Red. Of course it's annoying, but it also allows me to pick up from where I left off in the shower. And no, I don't mean touching myself, but _thinking_.

I've been a tattoo artist for almost eleven years now, and I've owned a shop of my own for about five. I didn't always want to become a _tattoo_ artist, per say, but art itself has always been a fascination of mine for as long as I can remember. Drawing, painting, the sheer freedom of _creating_ something that wasn't there before. In an egotistical sense, being an artist is like being a god.

When the light turned green, my thoughts began to dissipate. My brain was focused on only my commute until, _shockingly_, another stale green became a stagnant red. Tapping my thumb against the steering wheel, I sighed through my lips and figured I'd do some more thinking.

In grade school, when I told people that I wanted to be an artist when I grew up, I was praised for my creativity and applauded for my individuality. In high school, when people discovered that art was my passion and I planned on pursuing it, I was belittled for my lack of maturity and mocked for my negligence to reality. That's when I began to doubt myself. Art was everything I had known since the day I'd stuck my hand in a jar of finger paint and began doing what felt _right_ to me. Was I going to have to relearn my life? Could I reinvent myself into something that society would deem suitable? I didn't know, and I didn't_ want_ to know. I didn't know what to do.

In college, I met Hanji.

She was annoying from the second she opened her big, fat mouth and spat in my face, because she was blathering too excitably. She wouldn't shut up about her life experiences and how she was so happy to make a new friend on campus - I _wasn't _her friend. Also, I'd never asked for her to share her whole life's story with me. That is, of course, until she said something that piqued my intrigue.

She was an art major.

As someone who had still labeled themselves as "undecided" at the time, I instantly switched from tuning her out to listening to her irritating voice with the volume turned all the way up.

She spoke wildly about art and how much it had done for her throughout the years. She told me that when she was little, her parents never lectured her for drawing on the walls or getting paint stains on the carpets. In a split second, she had gone from a person that I had wanted to distance myself from entirely to a someone I wanted _everything_ to do with.

If it hadn't have been for Hanji, I probably wouldn't have given art a second, much needed chance. And looking back on it, she was also the person who coaxed me into getting my very first tattoo. I owed a lot to Hanji, a lot more than I'd originally thought. She may have been the most exasperating woman I have ever met, but it's our common outlook on life that makes her the only person I have ever comfortably called a friend.

I can still remember that conversation we'd had the week before we'd graduated. We were sitting in Hanji's dorm room, just shooting the breeze and sipping our energy drinks, when she asked me something kind of unexpected.

"Levi, what's your biggest dream? What's something that you've _always _dreamed of doing?"

For some, it might have taken them a good, long while to come up with something remotely cliche to such a vast question, but for me, this was something that I'd put a lot of thought into, and I'd had my answer clear in my mind and on the tip of my tongue.

"I want to paint the town."

At first, Hanji was confused by what I'd meant by that statement. She was under the assumption that I wanted to paint where we lived on a display for all to see, not that I secretly wanted to bathe the entire city in rich tones of reds and golds - just as a sunset bathes the daylight sky. It wasn't until I'd explained myself that she seemed genuinely determined to make my dream come true, and after a minor run-in with the law for using an abandoned bank building as our first canvas, she proposed an idea that had never even occurred to me before. Why focus on painting the buildings of the town, when you can paint the _people_ of the town?

So, I guess that's how I decided to become a tattoo artist.

By some unknown deity, the last light on my way to the shop ended up turning green the moment my foot began to hover over the brake, which forced me to take back what I'd said about literally _all _of the lights being red. Most - definitely most - but not all. And so, pulling into thick gravel of the unfinished parking lot had never felt so good. The day hadn't even begun yet, and I was already exhausted. Just great.

When I stepped out of my car, I suddenly realized that I had no idea what I was even wearing. I remembered getting dressed, but I couldn't remember the outfit I'd chosen for the life of me. When I looked down, I could see that I'd thrown on something totally basic - just a grey v-neck and some dark-wash jeans. I had to work, after all. I wasn't going to be wearing my favourite cardigan and a brand name tee when the threat of getting them stained with ink was always there. I'm clean and cautious with my skill, but accidents happen.

It soon dawned on me that I'd parked myself right next to Hanji's car. If she was already here, that must have meant that she'd already opened up the shop, so I don't even bother looking for my keys. The door had been unlocked and I wandered right on in.

Hearing what sounded like a lot of fumbling and fiddling around, I had half a mind to ask Hanji what the Hell she was doing, but the other half was telling me to get some coffee down my esophagus and pronto. Before I could even make it to the back room where the coffee pot was, though, I saw Hanji's head pop up from behind the counter like she had turned into a whack-a-mole of some sort. "Oh, hey! You're finally h-"

"Don't talk to me yet."

I'm a harsh man. Subtract caffeine and I become your worst nightmare. By telling Hanji that I didn't want her to open her mouth for the next ten minutes was legitimately the only way I could spare her from my sleep deprived wrath and she knew that, so she happily obliged.

With that, I hobbled sluggishly into the back room and made a direct stride for the coffee maker. It took three attempts of trial and error, but once I finally figured out how to work the untrustworthy thing, I had a cup of coffee in my hands and a somewhat satisfied palette. "Okay, hi."

"Hi!" Hanji giggled, leaving me baffled by how she could be in such a good mood this early in the morning. Maybe she was an alien. To be honest, I've thought about it before. "You're late, you know."

"I'm _always_ late." Did she really need me to remind her of that?

"Yeah, you've got a point. Anyway, while you were in the back, we received a call from that girl who had an appointment today."

"Oh, yeah?" Well, that could have only meant one of two things. Either they were going to be late (which would make me a hypocrite to hold against them), or they wanted to cancel, and something told me that it was the second one.

"Yeah, she sounded like she wasn't sure she wanted to go through it with. She said that she was afraid that getting a tattoo might be a mistake."

Nothing ground my nerves more than when people referred to their tattoos as a mistake. I could rant for hours on end about how people should appreciate the decisions of their past rather than feeling resentment toward them, but to save Hanji the burden of hearing me say all of the things that I've vented about to her before, I stalked back into the back room and brewed up another cup of coffee. This day was off to a wonderful start.

That girl had been the only client scheduled for today, and unless we tended to any walk-ins, it was going to be a very long and agonizing wait until lock up. And so, Hanji and I tried to remain hopeful, but who were we kidding? Walk-in customers were rarer than having an extra five minutes in the morning.

By the time our lunch break had rolled around, our hopeful attitude had turned sour. By the late afternoon, we'd grown so stricken with boredom that we began offering to give each other new tattoos. And by the time we put away all of our tools and sanitized our work stations (even though they didn't _need _to be sanitized), we were reluctant to realize that we hadn't received an ounce of revenue for the entire day, and that...wasn't good. Owning a business isn't cheap, and when said business goes a whole day without raking in some form of income, it's scary.

"I'm going home." I was the first to say it, but I knew that Hanji was the first to think it. Today had sucked and we were probably going to go into debt because of it, so why stick around to watch it happen? It wasn't like anyone was going to...

Like a symphony created by the miracle of angels, the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires had Hanji and I snapping our heads up at each other, before quickly turning our attention toward the door. Just moments after we'd been staring intently at the knob that hadn't been budged all day long, it twisted open.

"Hey, are you guys already closed?"

If I could have used one word to describe the young man that just walked into my shop, I would describe him as the freaking _sunrise_.

His clothes were drab and pastel, probably the least attractive thing I'd seen in a while. By no means a stranger to bearing tattoos, he appeared to have a neck and an wrist tattoo that had both been inked in so delicately that they were hardly even noticeable. But that wasn't even the worst part. For the love of God, it was his _eyes_. They were the strongest shade of amber I had ever seen that I nearly felt like I was being violated by the sun itself. He was, by every angle of his being, the sunrise, and if Hanji hadn't been the one to answer him first, I probably would have told him to get out.

"Yes, yes!" she beamed, and before I knew it, I had witnessed a double sunrise. Wonderful. "We close in about fifteen minutes, but if you'd like, we can schedule an appointment for you for tomorrow or maybe even the next day. Also, do you have an idea of what you want? For your tattoo, that is. After we lock up, we can sketch out a few samples and show them to you the next time you come in!"

If I didn't know any better, I would have said that this kid looked absolutely thrilled by Hanji's enthusiasm and willingness to help. But I _did_ know better, and I could tell that he was obviously overwhelmed. Why would he be, though? He's the one who came into my shop looking for a new tattoo, right? Was he intimidated by the fact that there were only two people working here? Did it bother him that he was the only other person in the shop besides its owner and its sole employee? Was he going to turn out to be like that girl who canceled on us this morning? All of these thoughts crossed my mind, but none of them seemed to fit. What was with this kid? Just what exactly did he want?

And then, he finally spoke up. Even his lips were the softest of pinks that it reminded me again of the damn sunrise. But that was way beside the point by now. What he'd ended up saying had left me feeling more insulted than I have ever felt for the entirety of my career as a tattoo artist. It left me feeling so utterly and completely _disgusted_ to the point nausea...or maybe that was just the coffee from the rusty, old pot.

"I'm actually not looking for a new tattoo. What I want is to get one of my tattoos removed."

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_And I am back from my short break! It was both eventful and restful, but now I'm ready to get back into writing again! (:_

_It feels both refreshing and scary to start something new, so do hope that you'll enjoy this story! If you've come over to this fanfic from "Feathers and Follies" (thank you very much, if you have!), you must have realized pretty quickly that this story is quite different already! Instead of having a story that's written through Eren's point of view, this fanfic is going to be written in Levi's! _

_I don't have very much else to say for now other than I hope that you've enjoyed the very first chapter to this new fanfic, and that I'm really excited to be back on track with my writing! Again, if you've started reading this fanfic because you've read "Feathers and Follies", thank you so much for your continued support! (:_

_And of course, thank you very much for taking the time to read!_

_- Chappy_


	2. Yellow

You wouldn't insult your grandmother after she's spent hours, maybe even days, preparing and crafting a Thanksgiving Day meal by telling her that the carrots she's cooked are too hard. You wouldn't insult your mother after she's worked for the entire afternoon, re-arranging all sorts of furniture and knick-knacks, by telling her that you don't approve of the way she's decorated the house. And you certainly wouldn't insult your father after it's taken him years of commitment and dedication by telling him that both his pristine and his mint condition baseball card collection is an embarrassment to the entire family. So, why? Why insult an_ artist_? Why insult someone who's spent hours inking up your skin, working on a masterpiece that _you _wanted in the first place, by asking them to _remove_ the very work of art they've created?

"_What was that?_"

If my voice hadn't given a hint to my seething anger, my overall demeanor must have. I caught myself extending my neck forward in a way that suggested malice, as my shoulders went stiff with stifling rage. Did this kid even understand the _damage_ he'd done to himself by asking such a question. If he didn't, he sure as Hell was about to.

Instead of cowering in fear, I watched his stupid, sunrise eyes slip into a state of confusion. Shifting back and forth between my face and Hanji's, for whatever reason, he didn't seem to be the least bit intimidated by my question. In fact, he was dumb enough to provide a follow up to it. "Uh, I asked if you'd remove one of my tattoos. Do you not do that here?"

_Do you not do that here? _He was joking, right? It had to be a joke. He couldn't honestly believe that he could just waltz into a tattoo shop, ten or so minutes before close, and request a tattoo removal. A _tattoo shop_. _My _tattoo shop. A place where people _get_ tattoos, not_ remove _them. And the kicker? "Are you _trying_ to annoy me?"

"Uh, no?"

He really _wasn't_ joking.

Hanji's heartfelt attempt to dissolve the tension was a good one, but it was hardly effective. Whilst laughing uncomfortably, she placed a firm hand on my shoulder. Her message was subtle, but I understood that she was silently advising me to get a grip. "Well, you see," she started off slowly, "it's not like we _don't_ have the equipment to remove tattoos, it's just that we've...never actually done it before."

As he turned his attention over to Hanji, the glimmer of a metallic shine grabbed mine. It must have been the kid's industrial piercing, and even _that_ was excessively flashy. Damn.

"Well, has anyone ever asked before?" Never in my life have I met anyone more pushy or more dense than this brat. Actually, that's a lie. There's Hanji, but at least she knows my limits and can read into my moods. Speaking with this kid for just under five minutes was the closest I'd ever come to chatting with a monkey.

"Yeah, people have asked," Hanji answered truthfully, "but you see, we've always turned down their request. It's, heh, kind of against our policy to remove tattoos. But if you'd like, we could always ink over your current tattoo and transform it into something totally awesome! We've done that a couple of times before."

Covering ink with more ink was something that I'd never been too keen on doing. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth and riddles me with guilt for degrading someone else's artwork. However, it has always been the alternate option to tattoo removal that we've provided. And for a moment, the kid looked as if he was seriously considering Hanji's offer.

When he brought his hand to the back of his neck, it gave me a better look at what his wrist tattoo actually said. _Freiheit _- written in simple, cursive script and colored in with a shade of slate grey. If he were anyone else, I would have asked him what it meant. I always liked hearing the stories and the motives behind why people desired to mark up their skin forever, but if by some chance that questionable wrist tattoo was the one this kid wanted to get removed, it was probably better if I didn't know.

"You know, I've honestly thought about doing that," he sighed, "but in the end, I just really want this thing gone. Even if I can't see it anymore, I'll know that it's still there and it'll bother me."

"That's your problem, then. Not ours." It had felt like ages since I'd stepped in and said something, but it was about time someone put an end to this irksome back and forth. "Can't you just get it through your skull already? We said that we don't do removals, and my partner here was even kind enough to offer up a pretty damn good alternative. If you're not going to accept it, then _get the Hell out of my shop_."

I could have worded that better, sure, but why would I want to do that? This kid _still _had no idea how outright _insulting _he was being, and not just to me, but to an entire community. He must have been the type of brat who figured everything was reversible and that there was always going to be a quick fix for all of his "mistakes" at the ready. There's just one issue. Tattoos _aren't _mistakes, and if he couldn't find it in himself to understand that, then he didn't _deserve_ the very ink that his skin bore.

At first, he seemed stunned to silence by the way I'd reacted, but of course, that only lasted for about three seconds. After the initial shock wore off, his expression reverted back into that snarky, too-cool-for-school facade, and with a shrug of his shoulders, he said, "I guess that's that, then. Thanks for your time." And with that, the same overhead bell that had announced his unexpected entrance had also alerted his awkward departure.

It took about a minute for either of us to say anything, and as Hanji and I listened to the crumble of the gravel as our one and only customer of the day drove away, I took notice of the fact that her hand was still on my shoulder. It's not like she had loosened her grip; if anything, her grasp had gotten considerably tighter. I must have been so focused on that stupid kid that I hadn't realized it.

"It must have made you kind of curious, huh?" Hanji had been the first to say.

"What do you mean?" It wasn't uncommon for Hanji to spout such nonsense in the middle of interesting situations, but this statement had me particularly perplexed.

"Oh, _come on_," she sighed amusedly. "Don't tell me you're not _dying_ to know what kind of tattoo he wanted removed. I mean, people don't pester like that for a rose or a star. It must have been something _really _embarrassing!"

Finally shrugging her hand away, I rolled my shoulders back and made an attempt at cracking my neck (it'd gone stiff with all of the stupidity that was still lingering in the air). When the tension refused to give, I cussed and headed into the back room to turn off the lights and grab my car keys. Today had been the epitome of bad days, and it was about time Hanji and I went home.

While locking the door to the shop and heading over to our cars, she suggested that we go somewhere for dinner. "I've been hearing good things about that new Mexican restaurant that just opened up down the street. Do you wanna check it out?"

As lovely as a night out with Hanji sounded - both literally and sarcastically - I declined her offer. "I'm not that hungry. Maybe another time."

Scoffing at my excuse, she shook her head and twirled her key ring around her index finger. "Did that guy kill your appetite, or something? Just an hour ago, you were bragging about how you could wolf down three large pizzas if someone slapped them in front of your face."

Twisting the key into the door of my car, I unlocked the vehicle and hopped inside. Just before taking to the ignition, I glanced back over at Hanji. "Like I said, I'm not hungry."

She stopped twirling her keys. "That doesn't make sense."

"You don't make sense. Bye." And with that, I curled my key into the ignition and closed the driver's side door, putting an end to our conversation.

In retrospect, I should have been nicer. Hanji was more than likely just trying to think of something special, something that we could do where we'd be able relax and get our minds off of the horrible day we'd just had. But she and I were different in that aspect. She liked to venture out and socialize after dealing with a stressful situation, whereas I appreciated the freedom to go back to my apartment, break out my paint set, and explore the depths of my mind. The good thing about our friendship was that Hanji _understood_ that. She accepted our diversity and offered a smile and a wave as I pulled out of my parking spot and headed out onto the main road.

I opted against the radio for my drive home. If I was planning to paint, I needed to let my thoughts gather and multiply. I needed them to devour my day and consume my brain to the point of near blackout. Such a strategy may have been extreme to some, but it's how I worked best. I don't paint the masterpiece; I let the masterpiece paint itself.

Back at my apartment, I tossed my shoes into the corner and dropped my keys onto the kitchen counter. _I really needed to paint_. My fingers were practically vibrating with the desire to delve into the reds and the purples, just waiting to be submerged in everything they knew best.

I may be an artist, but I've never used a paintbrush.

Rolling up my sleeves, I quickly located the loose set of bobby pins that I purposely kept around my working station. Slipping them into my hair and clipping back all of the stray pieces of my fringe, my eyes were immediately set on my newest collection of paints. They were unorthodox compared to what I usually used when painting, but they were nothing short of perfect for what my fingers were determined to create.

What baffled me the most was that my hands were instantly going for the jar of yellow paint. Yellow is a color that I paint with sparingly. It's used only for highlights and gentle shadowing. Starting off with yellow as a base color was more than odd, but I didn't falter. I twisted off the lid and I began.

Sliding my fingers across the smooth material of the canvas is a feeling like none other. It's euphoric in a way that elicits tingles of pleasure, sending them rushing straight through my core. This was it. This was the type of relaxation I needed. This was the happy place my heart had been craving. Burritos and tacos from that Mexican restaurant wouldn't satisfy me in the way that painting from my mind could, and it's with that that had me reaching for a pale shade of pink.

My eyes could not comprehend the image of what my fingers were creating, and as I pressed my forearms against the wet paint and caused it to smear and smudge in all the right places, I began to question myself. Never had I felt so inclined to use such a bright palette of colors before, but now that I was in the works of making something wonderful, I couldn't _stop_...but I hesitated.

Coated with paint and speckled to perfection, my arms were just as magnificent as the canvas before me, but it was when my hand hovered over the jar of slate grey that I realized what I was doing, what I'd _done_. My fingers recoiled and my mind went blank. I didn't need to think anymore; my thoughts were right there, staring me down and forcing me to accept the truth.

What I'd created was incredible. What I'd created was awful. What I'd created was the grossly gorgeous vision of a summer's sunrise in the midst of warm, golden eyes.

The black paint was right there. As was the purple, the red, the orange, and the green. I could have destroyed that image until there was nothing left but an explosion of color. But that went against my morals. It went against my mindset and my principles, and it was because of my own righteousness that I left the painting exactly as it was.

In the shower, I scrubbed my arms clean of the paint that mocked me, using my fingernails to pick and scrape at the bits that had already started to dry. The_ last_ thing I needed was to have my body tainted with the memory of my creation, the memory of...that _kid_.

It took until that moment for me to realize that I didn't even know his name. I'd spoken with him, argued against him, and Hell, I'd even _painted_ him, but that didn't change the fact that I still didn't know him by any terms other than "kid" or "brat".

That got me thinking of things I'm pretty certain I did _not_ want to be thinking about. I began to wonder how old he was, what his passions were, if he had a job that matched them, and how he'd managed to find his way into my shop. It also dawned on me that I had no idea if I'd ever see him again - not that I _wanted_ to see him again, because it would be perfectly fine by me if I didn't. But then I started to think back to what Hanji had said (a dangerous thing, really). If he wanted to have his tattoo _completely_ removed instead of simply inked over, it had to be something pretty bad.

Well, damn. She was right. Maybe I _was _curious.

Scratching at my skin to get the final remnants of yellow and pink off of it, I tried to imagine what sort of tattoo would be _so_ mortifying that he'd want nothing to do with it. All tattoos were a work of art, so no matter how disproportioned the image or how askew the lines were, I just couldn't make the connection. I'd have to sleep on it.

It may have been my second shower of the day, but I ended up standing beneath the waters for much longer than my first. Because I hadn't been bound by the clock, I allowed my thoughts to wander into places that, like I'd previously stated, I wasn't entirely sure they should be. Regardless of that disturbing notion, after I'd stepped onto the bath mat and toweled off, I figured I'd grab a quick snack before heading off to bed. Even though I'd told Hanji otherwise, I was still hungry.

Lying on top of the bedsheets, with only the ink that marked up my skin serving as my decency, I rolled onto my stomach and shoved my face into the pillows. Sleep would clear my head of these intrusive thoughts about _him_. And hey, if I fell asleep now, maybe I'd actually wake up early enough to miss the sun beating against my eyelids.

Yeah, no. That would never happen.

Just the same as every morning, I woke up with a grunt in my throat and a curse word on my tongue. The extra sleep had done me some good for my morning sluggishness, I'll give it that, but it did absolutely no favors for what was going on in my head. Never in my ten-plus years of being a tattoo artist had a customer stuck out in my mind as much as that kid, and it wasn't even because of something positive.

I'd have to remember my coffee credit card this morning, because Lord knows I really needed one.

Dressing myself in a pair of grey jeans and beige v-neck, I almost grabbed the matching beanie that I usually chose to wear with that specific outfit combo, but I stopped myself. Ugh, that kid had been wearing a teal beanie the other night, and now the mere thought of wearing something on my head had me feeling feverish. It was decided. No beanie for me.

In the kitchen - two steps from my bedroom, remember? - I made sure that I had both my car keys and my credit card, before slipping on a pair of shoes and heading out the front door. There was no way in Hell I wasn't going to have my coffee this morning; I was still convinced that the reason why my stomach hadn't been feeling one-hundred percent for the past twelve hours was because of that dumb coffee pot coffee.

Where I purchased my coffee, every employee that worked there knew both my name and my order: dark roast espresso with no sugar and just a hint of cream. It was nice to know that the moment I walked through the front door, my drink was already being made for me. It definitely cut back time on those days when I was running late for work - which was everyday.

"Here's your order, Levi!" the kindly barista announced. "It's a bit chilly this morning, so I made sure to make it extra hot for you."

"Thank you, Petra," I said softly, handed her my credit card in return for the coffee.

After giving it a quick swipe through the receiver, she passed it back over to me and thanked me for my patronage, before admitting, "It was strange not seeing you here yesterday. We were all worried."

"Tch, I wasn't worried..." Auruo muttered into a bag of coffee beans.

Blowing through the spout of the plastic lid before taking a quick sip of the brew, I explained how I'd forgotten my card at my apartment and decided to just drink the coffee from the pot that we have at my shop. "It tasted like garbage compared to this. I swear, I'll never forget my card again. Thanks for the drink."

"No problem! See you soon!"

Now that I actually had some caffeine in me, the commute to the shop wasn't all that bad. I'd hit some red lights here and there, but for the most part, I'd been pretty lucky at snagging the greens. Pulling into the gravel of the lot, I drove over to park next to Hanji's car when I noticed that there was _another_ car next to hers. I couldn't recognize the make, nor did I realize that we had a client lined up for this early in the morning. Unless, could it have been a walk-in? Well, I was about to find out.

Killing the engine, I got out of the car and, with my coffee in hand, entered the shop. I was immediately able to pinpoint a sound that I was rather familiar with, and that was the sound of Hanji's laughter. But _why_ was she laughing? And wait...who was she laughing _with_?

"Hey, Levi! You're late again," I heard her say, as my desire to flip her off grew with each passing millisecond. However, my attention had been drawn over to our guest. He was sitting in one of the waiting chairs. We never overlapped our scheduled appointments, so they were mostly just for show. Looks like they were finally getting put to some good use.

I only mentioned the word "good" until I saw his face.

"What the_ Hell_ is he doing here?" I breathed, speaking through my coffee's lid. That kid was lucky I had my caffeine fix with me that day, otherwise I would have kicked his sorry butt right out of my shop. Then again, why hadn't Hanji done that already? And why had she been _laughing _with him just a few seconds ago? None of it made any sense.

My question had been intended for Hanji, but my answer had come from the kid himself. Standing from the chair and turning around to give me his full attention, he explained, "I came here to ask you one more time. It's bold of me, and I know that, but you guys are the only _trusted_ tattoo shop around for miles, so you're kind of my last hope." He paused, and during that pause, he briefly glanced over at Hanji. When she prompted him with a nod, I felt betrayed. "So, yeah. Will you _please_ remove one of my tattoos?"

Although my default answer should have been to say no, Hanji's stupid seed of curiosity got me thinking again (still a dangerous thing). Just last night, I didn't even know if I'd have the chance to see this brat again, and by some random act of fate, here he was, standing in my shop, requesting me to provide him with the one service that my entire being physically rejected. But now that the seed was inside of my head, planted and growing like a little sprout of doom, I just _had_ to know what it was. "What tattoo could possibly be _so bad_ that you've literally driven all the way back over here just to ask me that stupid again? What _is_ it?"

When I noticed a glint in his eyes, I immediately knew that I'd been conned. I didn't think he was this smart, but he had specifically planned for this moment, knowing full well that I would be so stricken by my intrigue that I would ask him such a thing. And now, he had the perfect response for it.

"Oh, I have no problem showing it to you," he said, with a smile, "but only if you promise that you'll remove it after I do."

There was no way for me to have gotten out of that one. Both Hanji and the brat himself had pulled out a part of me that I would have liked to keep stashed away for the oh, so rare occasions like this one. If there was a tattoo, there was a story behind it.

And _damn it_, I wanted to know _his_ story.

"_Fine, I'll remove it_. Just show me your freaking tattoo already."

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_Ooh, it looks like Eren's going to get his tattoo removed! But what is it? Why does he want it to be removed so badly? All of these questions will be answered very soon! (:_

_On another note, I really enjoyed writing this chapter! It felt really good to briefly express Levi's type of art style through the way that he paints, so I hope you all enjoyed it, as well!_

_Something I forgot to mention in my notes on the first chapter was, how many of you actually Googled "sunrise" and "sunset" after Levi mentioned it in the beginning of the chapter? Honestly, if you do Google those two words, there is a big difference!_

_Anyways, I think that's enough rambling for me! Once again, I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!_

_And as always, thank you for taking the time to read!_

_- Chappy_


	3. Blue

I didn't have to look at Hanji's face to understand her shock. I could feel the pure, unadulterated emotion of whoa sifting around the expanse of the shop, crawling up arms and contorting faces. Even I hadn't been expecting my willingness to give. Like we'd explained to this kid last night, he had not been the first client we'd had to request a tattoo removal. However, there was one component that made him unique from all of the others: his request had been the first and likely _only _one I would ever accept.

And for what reason? Curiosity? Unsettlement? Desire? Three, mere sentiments that, when separated, can be easily contained. Together, they'd tore into my morals and led me straight to my downfall. Would I regret my decision later? Probably, but that didn't erase the fact that I'd already agreed to his proposition. I felt like an idiot.

What if his tattoo wasn't worth my time? What if it was something he'd "mysteriously" acquired after a drunken night out with his college friends (this kid was in college, right?), or an old band tattoo that no longer held any relevance to him. Those were typically the two genre of ink I would assume to see in this type of scenario, and one-hundred percent of the time, I was correct.

When I finally rallied up the nerve to open my eyes - I had a strange habit of squeezing them shut in irritation - and assess the faces of the two that stood before me, I wanted to punch something. Hanji looked at me as if I'd sprouted ten heads, but that wasn't why my fingers were curling into a fist. It was that _kid_. His lips had been quirked into the cockiest of smirks, and his narrowed gaze told me point blank that this is what he'd been expecting all along. He didn't have to say a word; his obnoxiously arrogant expression spoke his mind.

_"I knew you'd say yes."_

"Are you going to show it to me, or what?" What little patience I had was already wearing thin, and if this kid had pushed any further against my limits, I would have immediately revoked our little compromise.

With a shrug of his shoulders and a hand to his hip, he had enough gall to openly say, "I mean, I already said that I don't have a problem showing it off, but I feel like I should warn you that, well, it's in a pretty _intimate _area."

Intimate? Give me a break. Modesty was a value I'd tossed out the window, the second I'd picked up a tattoo gun. "I've tattooed Hello Kitty onto a forty-year-old's ass. Wherever your little _mistake_ is, I'm sure I can handle it."

The moment I'd relayed that memory, I heard Hanji attempting to muffle her laughter with an obscene collection of snorts and snickers. That day had been a day that, regrettably, neither of us would forget soon...if ever.

"Oh, yeah?" he questioned, somehow seeming both intrigued and unfazed. "That must have been a wild afternoon." The kid looked like he had more to say, but he faltered. I watched his eyes carefully as they began to scan his surroundings, up and down, left and right, before ultimately landing back on mine. Why was it that every time this kid looked at me, it was as if he was presenting a challenge? It really pissed me off.

And speaking of things that pissed me off, I hated to admit it, but his golden gaze had me momentarily hooked that I'd failed to notice that his hands were in motion...and where they were going, for that matter. _South_. While his fingers coiled around the hem of his shirt, twisting the blue of the fabric and edging it up his abdomen, I took note of his lanky midriff. _South_. Feeling down the length of his core, slowly, _slowly_, he began to work at the buttons of his jeans whilst fondling the teeth of the zipper. _South_. The sound of the metal coming undone and the rustle of fabric being pushed aside would have been my only focus, had his voice not been thrown into the mix. Low and velvety, like he was trying too hard to seduce a thrill out of me, he said, "Sorry to disappoint you, but my tattoo is in a _different _location."

When he peeled back the faded navy of his underwear, I swallowed. Damn it. He had me thinking all sorts of disgusting, gag-worthy thoughts, wondering if I'd be seeing _more_ than I bargained for, before the sharp curve of black ink caught my attention. He progressively pulled down his pants until his proof of puberty began to peek through. Maybe he hadn't noticed, or maybe he just didn't care. Whatever the case, it was about time I'd been given a full, climactic view of the permanent blemish that he so desperately wanted removed.

And damn, was it a beaut.

"What in the _Hell_ is _that_?" It was the only thing I felt at ease saying, as I stepped closer to him and crouched down to visually take in all of its glory (if I was the one to be in charge of removing this spectacle, he was going to have to get used to me being up close and personal with him).

Looking down at the tattoo himself, he sighed. "It's a real eyesore, huh? Do you blame me for wanting to get it removed now?"

It wasn't the fact that the tattoo itself wasn't aesthetically pleasing; in fact, the line work was incredibly crisp, and the cursive of the script was shaped to the point of perfection. It was the sheer _perplexity_ of the tattoo as a whole that had me stumped, because who the Hell was "Jean"and why was there a horse majestically galloping away beneath their name?

He didn't flinch when I brought my hand to the base of his hip, nor did he bat at my touch when I began to stroke the solid color of his ink. For someone who practically bathed themselves in pastels, it was unexpected, yet interesting to see something _dark_ etched into his sun-kissed skin. Tapping my finger against the intricate loop design that connected the "n" of the name with the tail of the horse, I asked him what I considered to be the only plausible explanation for a piece of work like this: "Were you drunk when you got this?"

At first glance, the kid looked as if he didn't know how to respond to my question. Did the cat finally bite off his hot tongue? No, impossible. Just when I thought I'd had him stunned to silence, he tossed his head off to the side and started to laugh. Well, that was annoying.

He settled down quickly, but the fact that he'd laughed in the first place enticed my features into a scowl. I had every inclination to ask him what the Hell was so funny, but I knew I'd get my answer soon enough. I took him as the type of person who liked to hear themselves talk, and I hadn't been mistaken. What surprised me, however, was the face he was making when my tempered gaze shifted upward to greet his.

I had never witnessed a sunrise more broken, damaged by the weight of the world and crippled by the force of reality. His lips yearned to smile, but the heaviness held them at bay. Even before he'd spoken the words that caused his voice to crack under the pressure, I knew that my accusation had been false.

"Worse. It was worse than being drunk. I was utterly and entirely intoxicated by a disgusting thing called _love_."

As I rose to my feet, he pulled up his jeans, and fastening both the zipper and the buttons, we gave ourselves some time to process the full picture. This kid was in love - _was _- and he had the lasting mark to prove it. I didn't _need_ him to fill in the blanks, I wasn't dumb, but I was a sucker for backstories. And from the withered expression that kid had been wearing, hosting it long enough for me to see right through him, I quickly realized two things: the wound was still fresh, and I'd just bought myself a ticket to Dramaville.

The silence must have been slitting his throat, because after he'd fixed the folds of his shirt, he automatically began to massage the base of his neck. "So, uh...we still have a deal, right?" he wondered. It was a wonder in itself how he'd managed to find his voice after stating something so personal. This kid had some thick skin. "You're still going to remove it?"

"Yeah, of course," I sighed, and nestling my hands into the back pockets of my pants, added, "A deal's a deal, right? I already said I'd remove it if you showed it to me, so it's only fair that I keep up on my end of the bargain."

"And even if he said no, I'd be more than willing to do it for you instead!" Hanji, whose presence had nearly been forgotten until she opened up her big mouth, generously offered. "Most people have really dumb reasons for why they want their tattoos removed, like they got them when they were blackout wasted, or they were dared by their friends to do it, but your circumstance is actually pretty understandable. It's not something we've been faced with before. And if you don't mind me asking, was it...a break-up?"

When Hanji gets started, there's really nothing that can stop her. She was entering a territory that was just all kinds of inappropriate for discussion, but hey, what did it matter to her? Hanji was the _definition_ of inappropriate.

The kid's attention was drawn over to her, and as he continued to play with the prominent ridge of his clavicle, I was able to see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. It was a rough topic, obviously, but he was taking it on like a champ. "Yeah," he said, after clearing his throat. "I got the tattoo when me and my ex were still together. It goes without saying that it's been one of the biggest regrets of my entire life."

"I see..." Hanji spoke sympathetically. "So, was your girlfriend's name Jean?"

Why the kid looked like he was suddenly struggling for words, I really didn't know, but it took him a beat or two, before he was able to say, "Uh, it's pronounced _Jean_. You know, like, the French way? And, uh, my ex is a guy, so..."

"Oh! Sorry, my mistake! I probably shouldn't have assumed..." Yeah, Hanji. Way to go. Then again, I probably would have assumed the same thing, so I didn't really have the right to judge. But seriously, who the Hell names their kid _"Jean"_ without expecting them to get beat up in the courtyard behind school at three o' clock in the afternoon?

Waving off Hanji's apology, he flashed her an awkward smile and said, "Nah, it's fine. I don't even know why I corrected you, to be completely honest. He _hated_ it when people got his name wrong. Heh, would have been nice payback for all of the crap he's put me through."

That kid probably didn't realize that Hanji could have cared less about saying his ex-boyfriend's name wrong, and the fact that she was apologizing was because she'd mislabeled his sexuality. Regardless, he started to fidget when neither Hanji nor I said anything to counter his statement. Seeing him like that was uncomfortable for everyone, but again, he was the one to break the tension by saying something else. "So, now what?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, in need of further specification. "Now what?" could have been in regard to many things. Now what am I going to do with this information? Now what am I going to do about the rest of my day? Now what am I going to do about my cold coffee? Petra had made it especially hot for me, too. Damn.

"Like, about this whole process and stuff," he clarified. "Shouldn't we, I don't know, talk about it?"

With a lazy shrug, I addressed Hanji before I addressed him. "I'll take this. Make sure you watch the phone. We have a few clients with morning appointments today. If any of them cancel, be sure to mark it down."

A short nod and Hanji headed over to the main desk where we kept all of our appointments booked and listed, as well as our all-around daily schedules. Our shop may have been a little roughed up around the edges - Hanji's fault - but hey, at least we were organized.

After that was taken care of and Hanji was occupied, I gestured at the kid for him to follow. "Let's discuss this matter in the back room. It's easier to talk back that." As in, it was more private. Talking about getting a tattoo removed in the middle of a tattoo shop felt like an oxymoron.

Leading him past the chairs and around the equipment, I guided him toward the back of the shop and offered him a seat in one of the old tattoo chairs that Hanji refused to get rid of. She claimed that it was the very chair that sat our first customer, and even though it was tattered and had a nasty rip along the side of it, we simply _had_ to keep it because of the principle behind it.

"Thanks," he said softly, taking me up on my offer and having a seat. He shimmied around for a bit, trying to get comfortable on a surface that made it physically impossible to do so. And just when I thought he was about to get right into the nitty gritty of our discussion put on pause, he asked, "What made you agree to do this for me?"

His question really shouldn't have taken me by surprise - all this kid spewed was nonsense after nonsense - but it did. "We made a deal. I thought we made that clear earlier."

"Yeah, I know, but I don't know why the idea of my tattoo was so fascinating to you. You could have lived the rest of your life never knowing what it was, and I'm sure you would have carried on just fine."

Sighing irritably, I leaned against the wall where we kept our collection of reject sketches and shook my head. "You're right," I reluctantly agreed, "I would have carried on just fine, but as an artist, I like hearing the stories behind _why _people desire to have the tattoos that they do. With you and your annoying adamancy about getting your ink removed, I knew you'd have to have a pretty passionate story, so I caved. It's as simple as that, I guess."

He nodded, before a gentle chuckle shook his shoulders. "Speaking of my 'annoying adamancy', you do know that I was planning on coming back to this shop every day, until you agreed to remove my tattoo, right?"

"That's harassment, and I would have reported you to the police." No, I really wouldn't have.

"Yeah, right." On second thought, maybe I _would_ have called the police on him. "Anyways, we should probably get down to business now. I have class in under an hour." It would seem that I was right about him being a college student, apparently.

With another sigh, I folded my arms against my chest and agreed to give him the quick rundown of the whole tattoo removal process. Even as I opened my mouth to speak, I couldn't believe the words that were coming out of it. From the moment I'd flipped over that "CLOSED" sign until it read "OPEN" for the very first time, I'd pledged many things to myself. Denying all requests for tattoo removals had been one of those pledges, and yet, here I was, laying down the groundwork for what would certainly be an adventure of a lifetime.

"First things first, you do realize how _long _it takes to get a tattoo completely removed, right? This isn't going to be a one or two visit kind of ordeal. You're going to be in and out of my shop for close to, if not over a year."

After an understanding nod, the kid mentioned, "I read something about that online, but it's kind of surprising that it's going to take a year for it to be entirely gone."

"It might even take longer than that," I added. "Tattoo removals really depend on a number of factors, some of them being color, size, and location. Black ink is the easiest to remove, but the size of your tattoo is pretty decent. And seeing as it's on your hip and not on, let's say, your arm or your leg, the location of your tattoo is in your favor. So, in actuality, it's fairly difficult to say how long the complete process will really take. An estimate of over a year just seems like the safest bet."

"Wow..." Was the length of time that it would take scary to him? Was he already having second thoughts? No, that wouldn't be right. Someone as driven as him wouldn't back out over something as inevitable as time. Soon enough, it was with a small nod and a gentle smile that had him saying, "I guess that just means that we'll have to get along with each other for the months to come."

Although I didn't want to admit it, he was right. Having to face someone who you despised for even a minute was unbearable. Having to be up close and personal with them, hearing them rant about their day and grabbing them tissues if the pain from the gun became too much, would throw me over the edge. We needed to be civil with one another, if this next year was to be a tolerable one. "Yeah, I guess so."

Next came the task of scheduling his first appointment. Because of his classes, finding time for removal sessions was going to be a bit of a hassle, but knowing him, he'd ditch an exam if it meant getting rid of that horrendous horse on his hip. Which made me wonder... "By the way, I get that your ex-boyfriend's name was Jean and all, but why a horse? Did you two meet on a farm, or something?"

Either he was giggling because of my lame guess, or he found humor in the _true_ meaning behind his tattoo, I couldn't tell. "I, uh... Are you sure you wanna know?"

"Yeah, tell me." I wouldn't have asked if I didn't, right?

Suddenly, the giggles were gone and a look of embarrassment washed over him. It was a look that also seemed to boast a hint of nausea to it, as well. "Okay, we kind of had pet names for each other, you know? Kind of like how most couples do? He used to call me 'kitten', because my eyes reminded him of a cat, I guess. And for me, uh... He was my...stallion."

"For the love of God, I'm going to _throw up_." That was, by far, the most repulsive thing I had heard all week.

He quickly waved his hands in front of his face, and if I hadn't been so close to coughing up what little bit of coffee I'd actually drank before the rest went bad, I would have thought he was kind of...cute. Well, his embarrassment, at least.

"Ugh, let's change the subject, please!" he pleaded. "Just thinking about it will make me feel like vomiting, too."

It was good to know that he and I were on the same page. I mean, really? Kitten? _Stallion_? What kind of wild sex were those two having? God, get me a bucket. Still, if a subject change was what he wanted, then I was more than happy to oblige. "On that _wonderful_ note, I think I've pretty much summed up most of what you need to know. You've gotten tattoos before, so you know that pain is obviously a factor. The same goes for removals. Also, don't expect to see immediate results. You probably won't even notice a difference in the ink until your second or third, maybe even your fourth visit."

The kid didn't look too thrilled, after he heard that last tidbit of information. The pain, he must have been expecting, but the delay in visible results? It was a bummer.

Rubbing his fingers along the back of his neck, I got a glimpse at his "Freiheit" tattoo again. This time around, I was just a breath away from asking him what it meant, however, we were cramped for time and I didn't feel like creating a truant today. Not on a Tuesday.

"Well," he began, eyeing me from where he sat, "I guess all that's left is for me to schedule an appointment, huh?"

"Well, yeah," I affirmed, as I eased my back off of the sketch wall, "but there's something else, too."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

Closing in on him in a manner that appeared more predatory than intended, I looked down on him questionably as I, once again, slipped my hands into the back pockets of my jeans and cocked my head to the side in inquiry. "Your name. You still haven't told me what it was."

"Oh, well that's easy," he said, rising into a stand to counteract my intimidation. Now that _he_ was the one looking down on me, the challenge was back and his expression grew fierce. I only asked for his name, not a battle. Then again, my accidental ferocity may or may not have been the stimulus. Oops. "Why don't you tell me yours first?"

And I had no problem with that. Like I said, the imposed battle wasn't intentional. There was no reason for me to put up a fight. "Fine," I sighed. "It's Levi." Just Levi. Short and sweet, with no need to expand.

It was with a faint chuckle that had me wondering if this kid had a death wish, but after those soft rumbles of laughter left his chest and danced out of his lips, at long last, so did his name.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Levi. My name is Eren."

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_This chapter ended up being a little shorter than the last, which begs the question, what do you guys think? Are short chapters good? Are they too short? Let me know! (:_

_Also, both Eren's tattoo and his name have finally been revealed! It's about time Levi can stop referring to him as "that kid", right?_

_Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was a lot of fun to write! (:_

_And of course, thank you for taking the time to read!_

_- Chappy_


	4. Black

He said his name was Eren, and then he spelled it for me. E-R-E-N. I didn't ask why he felt the need to do that, I just figured it must have been his introductory default, or whatever. And I'm not sure why - I'm _really_ not sure why - but it made me wonder how his first meeting with his ex-boyfriend must have gone down. Mispronunciations and misspellings galore, I imagine. That's true love right there.

After we exchanged names and not much else, he shot me a quick smile and excused himself. He had a class to get to and I had a tattoo shop to run. But before he left, he strolled up to the front counter where Hanji was still diligently looking over our plans for the day and penciled in a date for his first tattoo removal session. She suggested that he start by scheduling an appointment on a Friday or a Saturday, in the event that he need a day or two to recover from the appointment. But _oh no_, the kid said. He'll be fine no matter what day he's booked on, so it was settled that his first session would be one week from today (i.e. next Tuesday after his classes). Stubborn kid.

With Eren gone, the whole aura within my shop shifted. It was almost immediately that I began to relax my shoulders and roll my neck. Hanji must have caught wind of my tension, because she asked, "He's really something, isn't he? Eren, I mean."

"How do you know his name?" I thought only I had been entrusted with the privilege of knowing his name, along with its spelling, but it would appear that I was wrong.

Hanji began to tap her pen against the scheduling sheets. With a click, she said, "He signed it right down here, of course. Not only that, but he told me his name before you showed up this morning. He's quite talkative, you know."

"Yeah, I know." That had me curious. I'd only been five or ten minutes late like always, so why was it that Hanji was making it seem like she knew more about this kid than I did? Just dwelling on the thought reminded me that Hanji had actually been _laughing_, when I'd entered the shop. Damn it, now I needed to know what they were talking about. "Hey, why were you laughing earlier?"

"Huh?" It took her a second, before the cause and effect connected with the question. "Oh, that? Eren was just telling me about how he was completely determined to have you remove his tattoo for him. Levi, he was so adamant and enthusiastic about it that it was almost pathetic. Just seeing and hearing him talk about how he'd totally be able to convince you and to sway your reasoning, it made me laugh because I knew that you would _never _give into him. Then again, you did something very surprising today."

That was the biggest understatement of the century. Surprising didn't even _begin _to describe what I'd done. As for my comeback? It was weak. "Well, whatever. We made a deal. I'm not someone who backs out on their word."

"Yes, but you're also someone who consistently rants about their views on the removal, destruction, or altering of art of any kind. Levi, I can't even count how many times I've had to turn away customers requesting removals on your behalf. You've only had to deny a handful of them personally, but I've had to decline more than my fingers, toes, or memory space can compute. And don't get me wrong, you and I share the same way of thinking about all of this, so that's why it just really blows my mind that some kid who you've never met before and have already said no to once can somehow get you to kneel at his demand. It's just...very interesting."

Hanji had a point; actually, she had many points, and that's why I began to glare at her prickly, pointy self. There was something she wasn't saying, and I had a feeling that hearing her say it would only piss me off. So, why exactly did I prompt her to continue? I really didn't know. "Where are you going with all of this, Hanji? What are you implying?"

There was a pause. Her silence was not only unsettling, it was a foreign notion, and before I received her response, she stood from where she'd been seated at the front counter and rounded the corner of it. With her hands on her hips and her shoulders raised, she looked me straight in the eye and expressed the last piece to her still perplexing puzzle. "To be honest, I'm not entirely sure myself. All I'm saying is that if this Eren kid has the ability to shake your standards with little to no effort at all, I can't help but feel like there's something more to this entire situation than just a bargain. But like I said, I'm still not sure. Only time will tell, I suppose...but you know what?"

"Hm?" It was amazing how, seconds ago, I wanted nothing more than to hear the rest of what Hanji had to say. Now, I just wanted her to shut up. That was pretty much our entire relationship in a nutshell. Nonetheless, it was with a smile on her face and chuckle in her chest that had the air of the shop shifting again, this time into something slightly more breathable.

"At least Eren managed to entertain us with the story his tattoo is burdened by."

_Entertaining_ was Hanji's way of interpreting that story; _nauseating_ was more like it. Seriously, what kind of college students come up with kinky pet names like that? Was that the new trend? Whatever it was, it was freaking disgusting. And _stallion_? Give me a break. No brat who's barely an adult deserves such a name. _Kitten_, on the other hand...I could see that. In fact, I _had_ seen it. Drawing myself back to when Eren had enticed me with his challenging gaze, it had me pairing that set of eyes and fashioning them into a bedroom setting. Damn, that was something I did _not_ need to think about.

Luckily, the abrupt sound of the front door swinging open was enough to pull me out of my disastrous daydream. Hanji had been the one to greet our customer - a regular, in fact - with a bright smile and a chipper word of welcome. This was good; it was the distraction I'd needed. No more thinking about that stupid kid. We had work to do.

* * *

We'd tended to the grand total of four customers that day, and although it was a sizable change of pace from yesterday's flood of disappointment, it still wasn't enough to keep us completely satisfied. Maybe our day would have been more fulfilling if the tracings and colorings that we'd done were more complex. A simple butterfly pattern and the shading of a flame wasn't what I'd been looking for. I'd wanted something that would take my mind away from reality and spin me around in a world of subconscious. Sleeve tattoos with a purpose did that to me. Intricate back tattoos that placed a weight on the shoulders also bore that effect. A tattoo that took about thirty minutes of my time was just, for lack of better words, lame in comparison.

By the time I took notice to it, the sun had already set and it was time to close up the shop. With the lights off, the equipment put away, and the doors locked up tight, Hanji suggested that we go out and grab a bite to eat, and this time, I didn't decline her offer. I was hungry as Hell, and she paying for it.

Instead of going to that Mexican restaurant she'd mentioned yesterday, we went to a local diner that we frequented often during our lunch hour and ordered pancakes and waffles. Breakfast for dinner was something we hadn't done in a while, and even though drowning our stomachs with syrup probably wasn't the healthiest of options, it managed to gratify us in a way that our day had not.

Parting ways with Hanji felt odd that evening. Normally, a silent farewell would have been just that - _normal_. But tonight, it seemed as if all of her unspoken words from dinner were circling my head like a nasty swarm of flies. I could have asked her to spit it out and she more than likely would have, but when I saw her lips part and her breath cut off, I realized it was probably for the best not to pester her. If anything, she had faltered for my own good.

But the flies followed me home.

They followed me out of the car and into the building. They followed me up the stairs and around the railing. The followed me all the way down to where my studio apartment was squished into a cozy little corner, until I unlocked the front door and pushed my way inside. That's when the flies finally flew away, because in that moment, I had heard Hanji's words, both spoken and not, loud and clear.

_"I can't help but feel like there's something more to this entire situation than just a bargain."_

_"...there's something more to this..."_

_"...something more..."_

_"...Levi, is there something more to this?"_

It would be a foolish lie to say no, but it would be an exaggerated answer to say yes. There was _something_ about Eren, that part of it was true, but whether it was intrigue, bafflement, or utter whoa at his stupidity would remain a mystery to me...temporarily, at least.

I'd been in such a rush that morning, that the sight of yesterday's painting caught me off my guard. It would have been one thing if the image in itself had only been a portrait of a sunrise, but no, that thing had _eyes_, and they watched and judged my every move until I physically made my way up to the painting and flipped the canvas around. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Yeah, no.

Just seeing those streaks of color had me itching to break out my jars of paint and scrape my hands up and down the jagged, brick walls that encompassed me. I wanted to surround myself with creativity, allowing my mind to be devoured by the subconscious I'd been yearning for, but it was already late. Going out for dinner had subtracted the few hours out of my day that I had to myself. All that was left of my time was enough for a quick piss before bed.

But as I laid there restlessly, vision obscured by the absence of light, it was an hour after I'd tucked myself in between the sheets that I'd cussed like a captain and sailed out of bed. It was no use. Sleep had never been the cure to my cravings. If I wanted to paint, I was _going_ to paint, and off came the lids of my jar set.

Even though the intensity of my deprivation had been rather immense, when I broke out a new canvas and began to swipe fingers tipped with black paint along its surface, something didn't feel right. Black had always been one of my favourite colors to paint with, because its permanency left no room for mistakes. Yet, with each stroke that my index and middle finger masterfully shaped, I felt like I was doing something _wrong_. My curves were perfect and unique, but they didn't look accurate. My shadows were primed like a prodigy, but I wanted to erase them. Everything about that painting was a_ mistake_, and I wanted nothing more than to chuck it out the window and start all over again. But then, my hand began to gravitate, and everything made sense again.

Pink. Like the color of his lips, and the edges of his tempting tongue. Blue. Like the folds of his shirt and in the threading of his hat. Yellow. Like the elegance of his eyes and the grace of his gaze. Pink, blue, and yellow. Three colors that had no business intermingling with each other had never looked so _good _on a canvas before. And so I carried on.

When the late hours of the night began to give way to the early minutes of the morning, I dreadfully slumped to my knees and marveled at my masterpiece in awe. A profile of a pleasured visage; the make and mold of an expression overtaken with ecstasy. Mouth agape and eyes ablaze, the colors that would have never managed such mastery on their own worked wonders in unison. And the black paint? It hadn't gone to waste. What was once an error had blossomed into the exact line work of an image that both disturbed and compelled.

It was in that moment that I came to terms with doubts; this had definitely been more than just a bargain. What it became was the most involuntary form of infatuation I had ever experienced, and damn it all, I'd been clawing at my skin with confused impatience every second of the day until the following Tuesday.

Hanji made a point to address my aggression at every chance she grasped. Whether it was an innocent, "Are you okay?" or a more deliberate, "Do you have to act so hostile?" my response always seemed to fall along the same lines.

"Stop asking."

And as fate would have it, the rest of the week dug its heels into the ground, passing on second by agonizing second. The days weren't even all that eventful, either. Had we had a lot of clients to deal with, my brain may not have been so focused on what was to come six days from then, five days from then, four days from then...

The night before Eren's first session, I couldn't sleep at all. Not only did I have _two _paintings inspired by his stupid self in my apartment - albeit backward-facing, but still - he'd called the shop ten minutes before closing to _remind_ us about his appointment the next day, like we had somehow magically forgotten the monumental occasion.

All throughout the dormant hours of the night, his voice continued to play over and over in my head, ringing in my ears and scratching at my brain. And just the way he'd worded himself, too, it was repulsive; like we were already buddy-buddy with each other, when in reality, the only things I knew about him were his name, his assumed age, his hideous fashion sense, and his tattoo's story. If those were the new qualifications for friends these days, then by all means, call us chummy.

_"I'll see you tomorrow. I know you'll be waiting for me."_

If only he knew how much time and stress I'd wasted impatiently waiting for Tuesday to come, he'd probably wear the cockiest smirk on his lips for the rest of eternity. He didn't deserve that knowledge. In fact, he didn't even deserve to smile at all, because the only reason I'd been so desperate for his session to come was because I just wanted to _get it_ _over_ _with_.

But yeah, I didn't sleep that night.

It was with the morning sun burning through my pupils that I texted Hanji and told her I wouldn't be in until the late afternoon. When she asked why, I told her that I was tired. She didn't respond after that, and I didn't feel like adding anything else to my statement. Instead, I burrowed my face into two sets of pillows and tried to drown out the day and drink up what little sleep I could actually get.

By the time I was up and functioning, it was 4PM.

Food was a must, but before I could eat an entire refrigerator's worth of nourishment, I decided to take a shower. Even though I'd showered before heading off to one of my most sleepless nights of my entire life, I wanted to rinse away the tension I'd accumulated in both my back and my neck from trying all different kinds of sleeping positions. As it turned out, the position that was the most effective was the one that killed my posture. I was just a fountain of luck, apparently.

Truth be told, the shower had done me some good, but after getting dressed, downing some leftover ravioli and a breadstick, and slipping out the front door, the tension was back. If I'd estimated it correctly, by the time I arrived at the shop, Eren would be there any minute, if not already there. That realization alone had my foot wavering between both the gas and the brake pedals. Accelerate? Slow down? Face the kid? Make him wait like he made _me_ wait?

I tipped the gas pedal.

Reluctance and eagerness had somehow turned into a recipe for speed, because before I could even comprehend left from right, the gravel from the shop's lot was crunching against the tires of my car and I was pulling up into my designated spot...until I noticed that it wasn't vacant.

If Hanji had been the one to steal my spot, I wouldn't have minded it so much. She and I went back and forth between parking spots all the time, it wasn't that big of a deal. But this car, it _wasn't_ hers, and the thing that ticked me off the most was that I vaguely recognized it.

This car had to have been Eren's.

A muffled cuss and a sharp veer of the steering wheel had me pulling into the spot _next_ to my spot, and after turning off the ignition and getting out of the car, I had every intention to key the side of his door until something in the back window caught my attention. A lot of somethings, actually.

Spread out across the backseats of the car laid both half and fully developed photographs of all sorts. Polaroids, vintage prints, panoramas, etc. All of the display was so cluttered and in such disarray that the beauty of the photographs could hardly be seen in spotlight. But that made me wonder...had Eren taken these photos? If so, well, they weren't all that bad. Actually, some of them were...

"Levi, there you are!" Hanji gasped, rushing out from the front of the shop. "I knew I heard your car pull up. What are you doing out here? You know that Eren's already inside, don't you?"

Sighing, I gave her a nod and tried not to appear all that suspicious. "Yeah, yeah, I know." I almost added that he _deserved_ to wait after all of the anxious tension he'd put me through, but instead asked, "How long has he been here?"

"About fifteen minutes. I saw him waiting in his car for half of that, though, and I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe he's scared?"

Eren? _Scared_? I highly doubted that. Scoffing, I pushed past Hanji and stepped onto the sidewalk that lined the shop, before saying the one thing that probably hadn't even crossed her mind. "If anything, he's probably disappointed that I wasn't _waiting _for him."

With enough said and enough time already wasted, I sauntered up to the front door and gave it a push. Entering the shop before Hanji had left me unprepared for what I was about to witness, but even so, I couldn't exactly say that it was unexpected.

In short, the place was an absolute mess. The equipment was everywhere, tattoo guns were laying around like children's toys, and lo and behold, there was Eren, evidently shirtless and ready to go. He shot me a wave. "Hey."

God must have really hated me.

Closing my eyes and inhaling a sharp breath through my nose, I did what every sane person says to do and I counted to ten. When that didn't work, I counted sheep and suddenly felt tired all over again. Wonderful. "Hanji, what exactly did you do today that caused all of..." I could only think to gesture at everything before me, including Eren, "..._this_?"

"Well," she started innocently, "it's kind of difficult running a shop all by yourself, you know. Aside from Eren, we had two other customers that were scheduled at times that were fairly close to one another, so lots of rushing and rummaging around was going on. Oh, and the coffee pot almost caught on fire, but don't worry! I handled it."

That was an overstatement, an overstatement that I didn't want to see happen again. "Hanji," I said, breathing away my intoxicating anger, "I think you've had a long enough day. You should go home."

"But what about Eren?" If I didn't know any better, I would have said that she seemed genuinely concerned about leaving him alone with me. It's funny how Eren ended up being the one to speak up for himself.

"I'll be fine," he said, looking rather pleased. "If Levi and I are going to be having sessions like this for a year or more, we're going to have to get to know each other pretty well, wouldn't you say?"

"I guess that's true...but are you sure that you two will be okay? I can totally stay and help out around-"

I cut her off. "You've helped enough, thank you."

Getting verbally demanding with Hanji always had a tendency to make her go into "kicked puppy" mode, but I couldn't help myself this time. There was too much happening all at once and I was starting to feel suffocated. I just needed a second to breathe.

Obediently, Hanji collected up her things and told me to call her if I needed anything, before she walked out of the shop, got into her car, and drove off, leaving me, Eren, and a hoard of mess behind.

For someone who usually talks so much, Eren had been oddly quiet until Hanji had left. Now that it was just the two of us, he must have mustered up the will to say, "I wasn't sure if you needed me to take my shirt off during the removal or not. What do you think?"

"You could have kept it on," I sighed, trying to keep my cool about the whole thing. Eren had already made a vast mistake by parking in my spot, but if he could just be a little more agreeable in his speech and actions, maybe this evening wouldn't end up being so bad. "If anything, I'll need you to take off your pants."

"Roger that." Walking over to where he must have tossed his shirt, Eren slipped the article of vibrant clothing back over his head, before hooking his fingers through the loops of his jeans. Undoing his buttons and his belt, he shimmied until his pants were halfway down his thighs. That's when he looked up at me. "Where should I sit?"

Waving my hand at all of his options, I told him that any chair would be fine as long as he let me wipe it down first. And so, after picking the chair that was the furthest from the front entrance, Eren sat on the edge of it while I went to go and grab a spray bottle and a moist cloth.

With the chair disinfected and everything else basically ready to go, Eren laid back and made himself comfortable. I would have thought that he seemed rather content, until I heard him sigh all the way over from where I was gathering up the equipment for his removal.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

At first, his only response had been another sigh, but soon enough, his pretty, pink lips formed words. "I'm just...in shock, I guess. Happy, but shocked."

Rolling the cart with my gadgets and gizmos over to where Eren sat, I plopped myself down in my artist's chair and tried to make better sense of what he was saying. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He favored a slight pause, before turning his attention over to me. With his eyes finally on mine, I could accurately see how happy he truly was. "I guess I'm also pretty thankful that you're doing this for me. I mean, I could have gone somewhere else without nearly as much of a fuss, but I didn't want to. Your shop drew me in from the moment I read about it online, and after seeing it in person and meeting both you and Hanji, I knew that you guys were the ones to do this, whether you liked it or not."

"Yeah, definitely not," I stated, in regards to his mention about our likes. Even so, hearing that he had placed my shop up to such high standards was actually kind of flattering. I almost wanted to ask him what other expectations he had for my business, but quickly decided against it. We could chat about that later. For now, it was time to get gloved up and start executing the one magic tragic that an artist like myself had never imagined to preform.

With latex on my hands and a laser gun at my mercy, I felt like I was asking Eren's consent for much _more_ than just his word to begin. "Are you ready, Eren?"

He wasn't hesitant. In fact, he'd said yes, before I could even get the full sound of his name out of my mouth. "Alright then," I said, with a slight nod. "Hold down your boxers for me and I'll get started."

Without remark, Eren dug his thumb under the elastic band of his underwear and pulled them down just enough to reveal the full expanse of his Godawful tattoo. I saw him sneak a peek at it one last time, before rolling his eyes in disgust and ultimately closing them altogether. He muttered something, but I couldn't exactly make out what he'd said, because just when he'd started to speak, I'd flipped the ON switch on the gun, smoothed my fingers against his hip, and began to press the laser into his tattooed skin.

It was surprising how willing I'd been to agree to Eren's request, but what surprised me even more was how simple it was to actually _remove_ a tattoo. Forget the long process and the numbered sessions, I was actually _enjoying_ the motion of just smoothing this device along Eren's pelvis. Something interesting was that he didn't even flinch when I'd pressed the gun into him without warning, and after going at the same patch of skin for about five minutes or so, I'd even seen him _relax_.

However, with ten minutes already clocked into the session, I'd realized that neither of us had said a word to each other. Yeah, and here I thought that we were supposed to get to know each other better. I would have pitted that statement against him, if I hadn't already noticed that his boxers were slowly but surely creeping back up to his hips. What in the...

"Well, I'll be damned..."

I didn't think it was physically possible to do so, when your body was being inflicted with constant, irritable pain, but leave it to Eren to fall asleep during his first tattoo removal session.

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_Eren's pain tolerance is off the charts, isn't it? Haha, the poor kid is probably exhausted from all of his college work, huh?_

_Anyways, this chapter ended up being a bit longer than expected, and I'm really happy for that! Then again, the lengths of the chapters in this story may or may not fluctuate depending on the content they each contain, so yeah! I really enjoyed writing for this chapter, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it! (:_

_And, as always, thank you for taking the time to read!_

_- Chappy_


	5. Red

It would never cease to amaze me how that kid had actually managed to lull himself to sleep with the consistent zap of a laser gun piercing into his hip. It's not like the sting from the shock was a dull pain, either; some people claim that tattoo removals hurt even _more _than actually getting the tattoo. And yet, there he was, laying limply in the extended chair with his mouth opened wide and ready to catch flies (not like there would actually be flies in my shop, though).

When I pulled the gun away to assess the damage so far, I was pleasantly surprised to see that some of the color in the ink had actually faded. That was, however, until I'd grabbed one of the moist cloths that were kept on hand to wipe away some of the peaking blood droplets. With a single swipe of my fingers, the vibrant density of the black ink was back again. Just how deep did Eren make his tattoo artist go? No, he didn't need to answer that. I had a vague idea of what he must have told them.

_"Whatever you do, just make sure that it's permanent."_

Yeah, he'd probably say something stupid like that, like the tattoo alone wasn't already permanent enough. Sighing, I rested the cloth against my thigh as I continued to smooth out his skin. His boxers started to ride up again, making it difficult to work for more than two seconds at a time without having to slide them back down. The third time I had to shut off the gun in order to fix them, I was barely a breath away from just ripping them off entirely. Not for lewd or immodest reasons; I only wanted them to stop interfering with my work.

As I applied more pressure to the heavily inked portions of the horse's body and limbs, I noticed that Eren had flinched slightly, but there were still no signs of him waking up any time soon. Someone get this boy a medal of honor, because he damn well deserved it.

Wiping him down after smaller bits of blood began to bead, I had to wonder if Eren would be disappointed to find out that he'd slept through his entire session. Having him call the shop the night before his appointment to _remind _us about his session showed his enthusiasm. The fact that he had his shirt off and was all but raring to go the second I'd stepped through the front door only proved it even further. Snoozing during the one thing he'd had his mind set on all week - and possibly longer - was more than likely going to upset him.

The silence of the empty shop and the gentle buzz of electricity from the gun was calming in a way that felt odd admitting. Yeah, it's really relaxing to listen to someone getting their ink scorched off. Totally zen. But in all seriousness, while the quiet was nice and made it easier to focus, I would have liked to strike up a conversation with the kid. Although he was annoying as Hell and had a horribly snarky attitude, he was one of the most interesting clients I'd done business with in a while.

While the ink and the minutes continued to melt, Eren's first session was quickly coming to a close, which was a relief in one sense, but it was also a huge pain in another: how the Hell was I going to wake this kid up? If a freaking _laser gun _put him to sleep, then what kind of logic would there be if a simple tap on the wrist or a shake of the shoulders did the trick? Absolutely none.

And with that, I slid the device along the tip of the horse's snout and I was done. Turning the gun off and setting it aside, I wiped away the blood that had collected on Eren's hip one last time before getting up. It felt nice to stretch out my legs after sitting in the same, hunched over position for such an extensive period of time, but that wasn't why I'd gotten up in the first place. Now that Eren's session was complete, he was going to need ice.

I slipped into the back room and headed over to where Hanji and I kept a mini fridge - you know, for all of our miniature refrigeration needs. Shoving aside her two-week-old carton of Chinese take-out, I snatched the ice tray from its freezer compartment and took it with me as I made my way back into the main shop.

Before re-joining Sleeping Beauty, I paused briefly at the front desk and began to shuffle around in one of the uppermost drawers. I cursed Hanji for making such a mess of things, otherwise, I wouldn't have had as much trouble as I was having trying to find a plastic sandwich bag. We had them handy for clients in the event that they wanted a tattoo in a place that required them to remove pieces of jewelry, but in Eren's case, he would be using it as an ice pack.

After finally uncovering one of them, I slammed the desk drawer shut and started pouring the ice cubes into the plastic bag. With a slide of my fingers, I snapped up the seal and walked back over to Eren. It didn't surprise me that he was bleeding again, nor was I shocked to find him still asleep. I reached for the cloth I'd been using beforehand and used it to gently dab the reddened skin of his hip, before resting the bag of ice there. Again, only a minor fidget upon contact, but nothing of substance that would lead to his arousal.

Eren's removal session had begun promptly at 5PM. By 6PM, I'd finished my work, cleaned him up, and started icing the area of treatment. I took a small dinner break at 7PM, and thirty minutes later, took another one to use the bathroom. What was both mildly unsettling and very plausible was that, at 8PM, as I was flipping the signs and turning off the neon lighting fixtures, Eren _still_ hadn't woken up yet. Like I said, get that kid a freakin' medal.

Even though it had been one of the most bizarre appointments I'd ever had to deal with, I wasn't worried for the kid's well-being. Albeit infrequently, Eren was still moving and twitching, so it wasn't like he was dead. Dead to the world, maybe, but not _dead_ dead. Also, about every ten minutes or so, he'd make a really grotesque smacking sound with his lips, followed by either or mumble or a moan. As far as I was concerned, dead people didn't do that, and so I waited. What else could I do, really? It wasn't like I could just lock up the shop with him still in it. Unless...

Yeah, no. There was no way I could do that.

Waiting around for some stupid kid to wake up from his extreme power nap became boring exceptionally fast. If my cell phone's data plan had been unlimited, I probably would have surfed the web or watched dumb, yet entertaining videos. But alas, I was already on eighty-two percent of usage, and with my next billing cycle not for another week, I didn't want to risk it.

Instead of just idling about and creepily sitting next to Eren, I decided to make myself useful and tidied up around the shop. I would have made Hanji come in early the next morning and do it herself, but seeing as I had absolutely nothing better to do, I got started by clearing off the desk and picking up everything that didn't belong on the floor _off _of the floor. I would have reorganized the ink shelves, too, hadn't the sound of a muffled yawn and a confused mumble drawn my attention. "Oh, you're finally awake."

Dazed and delirious, I saw Eren's droopy eyes survey his surroundings, before quickly and horrifically coming to the conclusion that, no, this definitely was not his bedroom. Actually, for a second there, it seemed as if he had no idea where he was. He even began to ask, "Where...?" but that was stupid, and I didn't allow him to finish such an idiotic question.

"Where do you think you are, Eren?" I grumbled, with a scowl. Maybe if I spoke up loud enough, he could feel the ferocity in my voice from across the room. "You're in my shop."

Snapping his head to look over in my direction - practically giving himself whiplash in the process - Eren's exhausted eyes instantly doubled in size, finally showing those telltale signs of consciousness. "Wait, what the Hell?! Did I...I fell asleep?!"

"Yup."

"For how long?!"

I had to think about that for a second. "Well, it's almost 8:30 now, so about...three and a half hours?"

Upon hearing my unbelievable response, most of the colors in Eren's face slowly began to fade. Was it scary to him that he'd been knocked out for the past three hours? "...Really? That long?"

"Yeah." I kept my replies brief, knowing that Eren would more than likely have a million and one questions that he wanted answers to. There was no need for me to waste my breath by answering him in detail, unless he specifically asked for it.

After scratching his head and ruffling his hair, he slowly sat himself upright. He must have felt something squishy slide across his abdomen, because he looked down into his lap with a small gasp. "A bag of water?"

"It used to be ice. It was to help cool down your skin, after I'd finished applying the laser to it." I figured something like that would have been considered common sense, but apparently not.

"Oh, that makes sense." Of course it makes sense. It's _common sense_. He scooped up the bag of water and casually placed it onto the cart that I'd been using to keep all of my equipment close by and at my disposal. "By the way, is your shop already closed for the night?"

I nodded and leaned my hip against the edge of the front desk. I wonder what tipped him off. Was it the fact that we were the only ones in the shop? That the lights had been dimmed and the signs had been flipped? Or maybe it was my air of impatience that made him realize it was well past lock up. "Yeah, it closes at 8PM."

"Damn," he sighed apologetically, "I'm so sorry. You could have just shaken me awake, or something like that. Or maybe you could have yelled a little bit"

Yeah, I highly doubted that first one would have worked. Then again, it never crossed my mind to _yell_ at him. Touch and sound were two, very different senses. Eren may have had the pain tolerance of a boulder, but he could also quite possibly have had the hearing of a baby bat, and just the thought of it alone made _me_ feel like the idiot for not giving it a try.

"I'll try to keep that in mind for the next time. Oh, and speaking of next time, while we're here, we should probably schedule your next appointment." I was already at the desk where we kept all of the scheduling sheets, so why not just get it over with? "Have a date and time in mind?"

You know that feeling when you're talking to someone, and it's like they're not even _trying _to pay attention to what you're saying? Yeah, Eren's absent expression was giving me that feeling. "Um, hello?"

"Oh!" His head shot up, at the sound of my prompting tone. He'd been looking at his tattoo, probably trying to see if there were any visible changes in it yet. I hated to break it to him, but I'd already warned him that he wouldn't start seeing results until two or three sessions in. Maybe he hadn't been completely listening to me back then, either. "Did you say something?"

"I asked about your next appointment. When do you want me to schedule it for?"

It was obvious that my patience had been slowly slipping away by the second, and what both baffled and amazed me was how Eren, after he had just asked me if I'd said something to him, had already gone back to tuning me out. That was it.

"Okay, listen up, _kid_," I hissed, spitting out the derogatory nickname like venom. "If you're going to keep ignoring me like this, or keep me waiting around for your lazy ass to wake up, I'm not going to-"

"Levi, can I talk to you about something?"

...What? His question had caught me completely off guard, stunning me into a silence that caused him to squirm awkwardly.

"I mean, I know it's after closing and you probably want to get home," he said, while playing with the folds of his shirt, "but I feel like I missed out on my opportunity to talk to you by falling asleep."

Well, he wasn't wrong, but he also wasn't making any sense. Whatever he wanted to talk about, he was making it seem like some sort of big deal, and I didn't know if I was willing to get myself into something like that. Then again, I didn't have a valid excuse for hurriedly heading home under my belt, either. I wasn't tired, I wasn't hungry, and I was pretty sure that if I spent another one of my nights painting, the outcome would drive me insane.

I sighed reluctantly and left my post at the front desk. I kept my eyes glued to the floor, as I walked over to where Eren still sat. He hadn't stopped fumbling with his shirt, and it was honestly starting to make me feel slightly nervous. If he was going to spout out some stupid love confession, I had every fiber of my being armed and ready to smack him across the face. Not sure why, but that felt like the appropriate response to such a thing.

Having a seat in the rolling chair beside him, I rested my elbows against my knees and let my hands hang loosely between my legs. I didn't know how long this talk was going to last, so I'd better make myself good and comfortable, right? When I spoke, I looked up at him. "Fine, we can talk. What did you want to say?"

Eren's eyes had trouble directing their focus on anything but his stupid shirt, so in order to get him to meet my gaze, I encouraged him by tapping his leg with a knuckle or two.

It was like the kid was refusing to look at me, like he couldn't bring himself to look into my eyes, but at least he'd acknowledged my attention with a gentle sigh and a small shrug. "I'm not sure if you're up for it, but I kind of wanted to tell you a little bit about myself..." There was a hesitant pause between his two thoughts. That was never a good sign. "...Myself and Jean."

"Your ex-boyfriend?" The conversation had only just started and I was already feeling lost. Why in the Hell would Eren want to talk to me about his ex? Talking about himself, I could understand, but his ex? Oh, the regret of accepting his invitation to chat was already settling in.

I saw Eren eye me for a flicker of a second, before he was back to focusing on his shirt again. If this was how our entire exchange was going to end up, I no longer felt as inclined to hold my own eye contact with him. However, just as I'd shifted to look away, I was suddenly blanketed by his warm stare.

"I don't want to talk about this just as much as I'm sure you don't want to hear it," Eren admitted irritatedly. "But I feel like if you _know _the events that led to our break up, you'll feel better about what you're doing. You know, removing my tattoo and stuff..."

We'd already gotten through one of his removal sessions _without_ me knowing anything about his past relationship, so I didn't really understand how he'd come up such a conclusion, but I chose not to highlight that notion. I'd rather preserve some of my dignity as an artist, thank you.

"Look, if you don't want to talk about it, I'm not forcing you to." I wanted to make that point very clear. "But this is obviously something that's stuck on your mind, so if you want to go ahead and rant about your relationship troubles, then I really don't care. I'll just listen."

Eren nodded, and finally - _finally _- stopped playing with his shirt. "Thanks. That's all I could ever ask for, really."

After asking if there was any way to re-adjust his chair so that he could sit up straight while still having some back support, I helped him get positioned and waited for him to begin. I'm not gonna lie, it'd be kind of weird if he'd started talking without even pulling his pants back up, so I waited for him to do that, too.

Just before opening up his big mouth, I caught a glimpse of his hardened expression. And in a moment of tension, I quickly realized that, whatever this kid was about to tell me, it was going to exceed all of my expectations of him.

"I guess I should start off by telling you that I'm studying to become a professional photographer," he began, with a small smile. Huh, that would explain all of the photographs I'd seen in the backseat of his car. "Ever since I was a kid-" News flash, you're _still_ a kid, "-I would always ask my parents if I could borrow their polaroid cameras. I would just run out into the backyard and start snapping pictures of all kinds of stuff, and it would be pretty awesome."

To show that I was following him so far, I shot him a quick nod, because hey, I could relate to his enthusiasm. I used to run around with my hands and legs completely covered in glitter and paint.

"So anyway, in my teens, I started getting more serious about photography. I saved up all of my birthday and Christmas money to buy myself my very first Digital SLR camera. My parents told me to get something cheap, but I figured you outta go big or go home. After that purchase, all of my free time was dedicated solely to my passion. I'd take pictures of plants, animals, people; anything that looked like it needed to be preserved forever.

In my senior year of high school, when I was out on one of my photography excursions, I stopped at small coffee shop for a short break. I was pretty tired from all of the traveling I'd done that morning and wasn't planning on taking pictures of anything in there...until I saw _him_. I'd never seen him, or someone _like _him before, so it goes without saying that I didn't know his name. And now that I think back on it, he wasn't all that special. He was just some guy sitting at a table, sipping on coffee and reading _Don Quixote_. But I was taken by him. The dim lighting in the shop and the way he was positioning himself like a proper man portrayed him as incredibly photogenic. So, what did I do? The stupidest and greatest thing I had ever done before.

I tried to unzip my camera bag as discretely as possible, and when I took another quick peek at the man through my camera's view finder, I was grateful to see that he hadn't noticed what I was doing. Playing with the focus and setting his frame into position, I waited for him to turn to the next page of his book before pressing the shutter button. Heh, can you guess what happened?"

Context clues alone had given me a pretty good idea of what went down after that, so I clicked my tongue and said, "I don't know. Did the flash go off, or something?"

"Bingo," he chuckled. "I'd forgotten that I'd set my camera to automatically flash in darkened areas, and since the lighting in the shop was so weak, the flash from my camera basically illuminated the whole place. Ugh, it was so embarrassing. Not only that, but the guy that I was snapping the picture of wasn't all that happy, when he saw that my lens pointed directly at him.

Without thinking my actions through, I bolted out of the shop and tried to get as far away from that place as quickly as possible, but it was no use. I could hear thundering footsteps and someone shouting at me to stop running. Looking back, I wasn't surprised to see that it was the guy whose picture I'd taken.

It sucked that I'd been so energy drained at the time, otherwise, I would have easily been able to out run him. But instead, he quickly caught up to me. He forcefully grabbed me by the shoulder and asked me to give him a good answer as to why I'd taken his picture in secret like I did. It was creepy, he said, and he felt violated, so without thinking, I told him what I just told you. _'You...looked so perfect that I wanted to preserve your image forever.'_"

Eren took a moment to breathe after that. Nostalgic thoughts can be either a Godsend or a devil's curse, so I didn't blame him for needing a second or two to recollect his thoughts.

"Anyway, I'm not going to bore you with the minor details, but instead of being angry at me, the guy started to laugh. He called me cute and pathetic, even though what I'd done was still kind of strange to him. He then told me something unexpected; he told me that he was a male model, which I didn't doubt for a second. His career required him to get his picture taken for hours on end, but when it came to photos snapped in secret, he had honestly been shocked by it. One statement led to another, and before we knew it, we were exchanging names, ages, and contact information.

We talked to each other pretty much every day after that, whether it be on the phone or through text message. He would tell me about his photo shoots, and I would talk to him about the blade of grass I'd taken a picture of - mind you, it was a beautiful blade of grass. Day by day, we were learning so much about each other, and then one day, he asked me the one question that was all but inevitable by that point. _'Eren, are you gay?' _he asked me, and when I answered yes, he said that he had thought so and hung up. The next day, he asked me out."

Eren's story was progressing at a pace that sounded like it had come straight from a romance movie based off of the highly acclaimed novel: not as good and really cheesy. However, I patiently continued to listen to what he had to say next.

"We'd been dating for about three months by the time I graduated from high school, and with him already being a freshman in college, we decided, hey, why not live together? The cost of renting out a small apartment ended up being cheaper than the dorms anyway, and we both figured that if we found a two-bedroom place that had utilities included, it would be like we were roommates, or something."

Eren stopped in the middle of his story again, but this time, it wasn't because he needed a breather; it was because he was embarrassed, and it almost made me wish that he could see his face. He probably didn't even realize that his cheeks had flushed into the brightest shade of red I'd seen all week.

"Yeah," he coughed, "even though we were renting for two, we only ever ended up using one of those bedrooms. That aside, Jean made my transition from home to essentially living on my own an easy one. He always made sure there was enough food in the fridge, and I always made certain that he had clean clothes to wear the next morning. Everything about our new life together couldn't have been more ideal...or so I'd thought.

About two years down the line, I was a junior and he was a senior. By this point, I'd been scoring lots of gigs where people would request my photography services at their parties or weddings or wherever. I wasn't even officially employed yet, but everyone that I'd shown my portfolio to loved my work and wanted me to be one of the photographers at their venues. And how could I deny such incredible offers, right? I would have been stupid to say no. Almost as stupid as I'd been on this one morning when I was booked for some girl's sweet sixteen.

There I was, in my car and already about halfway to the location of the party when I realized that my camera wasn't in the backseat. Like the idiot that I am, I'd left my camera in its bag on the kitchen table after being in such a rush to get out the front door and on my merry way. And obviously, I couldn't just show up at the venue without my camera in tow, so I had to turn around and head all the way back to the apartment."

Eren didn't stop speaking, but I immediately noticed a difference in his demeanor. His eyes, wide with the amusement of his story, had narrowed into fine daggers. The hands, having remained still for much of the tale, were balled up into tight fists, earning a token of concern on my part. That was when our conversation headed south...rapidly.

"About twenty minutes later, I was back at the apartment and stumbling over my own two feet to get to the kitchen table. Everything seemed fine at first, but when I lifted my camera bag to sling it over my shoulder, what I'd noticed made my heart stop beating: my bag was unzipped.

Now, I'm not someone who has very many obsessive compulsive tendencies, but when it comes to my camera bag, I _always_ make sure that it's zipped up before I put it _anywhere_. I could just be resting it down for a second, and I still have to zip it up.

An innocent thought crossed my mind, and it was that because of my scattered brain that morning, maybe I had actually forgotten to zip it. But the truth outweighed the naivety. Someone had been using my camera.

Again, I was so ignorant. I pulled my camera out of its bag and hesitantly turned it on. I thought, _'Hey, maybe Jean was trying to be romantic and took a picture of himself to wish me good luck at my gig.'_ Even though the idea of that was cute, it still left me feeling a bit tense. Jean worked in front of the camera, not behind it. He knew that I was very particular about my camera, and I really didn't want him tampering with machinery that he didn't know how to properly operate. Still, I kept my hopes high for an adorable bedhead selfie, or something sweet like that. Oh, but I couldn't have been more wrong even if I'd tried.

It was a huge relief that my camera turned on and seemed to be working fine, so I eagerly clicked the review button to see the last picture that had been taken - you know, expecting to see a picture of my boyfriend. But it wasn't a selfie. Oh, it was_ not_ a selfie at all. In fact, I didn't even know what to call it at the time other than utter betrayal."

Turning my attention toward Eren's face, I noted his twisted scowl. It was mixed with a hint of sadness and a whole lot of anger. Clearing my throat in an effort to ease some of the tension that had built up over the course of the conversation, I decided that it might have been a good time for me to chime in. Let the kid know that I was still listening, and in fact, completely enthralled by his story. "What did you see?"

The mask that Eren wore had the muted aggression of a lion, but also possessed the damaged dimensions of a beaten dog. As a strained sigh slipped through his wavering lips, it was evident to me that this kid had been holding back his sensitivity. Either that, or he'd been a sheep in wolf's clothing all along, but I found that hard to believe - especially when I heard what his answer had been. Anyone who had ever loved and claimed to be loved in return would understand why Eren was struggling on the verge of vengeful tears.

"A sex tape. It was a sex tape of Jean with another man, a man I had never seen before."

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_Alright, this chapter was very dialogue heavy, so I hope you all didn't mind that too much! But hey, at least we're getting a view of how Eren and Jean met, as well as why they fell apart. It's pretty rough, huh? Expect more details about Eren and Jean's break up in the next chapter to come!_

_Even though it pained me to type out the ending of this chapter, I really loved getting to write about Eren's past and his love for photography. I hope you all enjoyed it! (:_

_Anywho, thank you very much for taking the time to read! I always appreciate it!_

_- Chappy (:_

_P.S. I know I don't post this often, and it's my first time posting it for this fanfic, but if you want to follow me on tumblr, my URL is kairixxxsora16. I mostly reblog Attack on Titan and DRAMAtical Murder! And chapter updates, of course! Feel free to check it out! (:_


	6. Gold

Cheating is one of those trivial things that humans sometimes do in order to get by in life. Everyone, in one way or another, has cheated before - that's a simple fact. Whether it was on a test or just to snag a few bucks out of a friend (I am guilty of both the prior and the latter), when done all in good fun or to seriously save yourself from a failing final grade, it's something that's pretty harmless if it's taken to a certain extent. However, when cheating and relationships are thrown into the same bag and mixed around until the fine lines become obscured, there is no such thing as harmless fun.

Up until the climax of Eren's story, I had listened to everything and anything he had to say with very minimal input on my part. But after hearing something like that, something so unforgivable in a way that it made even _me_ begin to feel physically ill, it was time for me to make a comment. "Eren, is that true?" I asked. I hadn't questioned the reliability of his words since he'd begun speaking, so why now? Was it because I didn't believe him? Or better yet, was it because I didn't _want_ to believe him. "Did that really happen?"

He nodded a awfully slow nod. Now that he'd addressed the main reason as to why his relationship had been put to a halting stop, his entire demeanor was different. He definitely seemed more aggressive at first glance, but one look into his exhausted eyes was all it took for me to see that his anger only went as deep as the surface. If I were to scrape and scratch past that barrier, I would find myself swirling in a world of suffering.

"Yeah," he said softly. As he continued to speak, his voice began to break. By the end of his last sentence, he was all but whispering his remaining words. "I didn't want to believe it either, but how could I not? The evidence was all right there, like a hard slap across the face. And you know, the more I scrolled back through my picture review, the more and more pictures I found of that man. All at once, there were too many things to think about. When did it happen? Had I always been oblivious to this affair? Most importantly, how long did it take for me to notice that my camera bag had been unzipped? I had been taking pictures of rose petals and cigarette butts just a few days prior, meaning that whatever disgusting deeds Jean and that man had done together, they had done them pretty recently...and in our bed."

I could have gagged, upon hearing that last part. Not to be the one to give alternative options to an affair, but they could have done it on the floor, over the couch, or even in the shower and their betrayal would have been just as bad, but the thought of laying in the the same bed where it had all happened just a few nights before, rolling around in the sheets and getting comfortable for a good night's sleep, it was horribly repulsive - and not to mention unsanitary.

"What did you do?" I almost felt redundant for asking. It was pretty obvious that Eren must have confronted his ex about the video and the pictures, but I wanted to hear it from him just to be sure. And taking a step back for a moment, just how _stupid_ was Eren's ex-boyfriend really? The fact that he had legitimately _recorded_ his cheating scheme was one thing, but what I couldn't understand was why he had recorded the whole damn thing on _Eren's_ camera, an object that was seemingly just as important to the kid as food and water was. Did this Jean guy and his little playmate really think that they were going to get away with a lie like that for long?

"I turned off my camera, slipped it back into its bag, zipped everything up, and headed off to the sweet sixteen." By this point, each of Eren's responses have been through remarkable stages of varying emotion. When addressing the issue, he had been so close to his breaking point that I had already seen the highly hung chandeliers crashing within him. But now, he was decently mellow. His aggressiveness had died down, and he no longer looked as if he were fighting back tears. From an overflow of combating feelings to none at all, when Eren had momentarily mustered up the will to rest his eyes upon mine, I was looking into something that wasn't even there. Eren's soft gaze, it was empty.

Understandably, he sighed heavily, before he proceeded to slam me with more of the details. "At the party, I took some pictures of the birthday girl, a few angles of the cake, a handful of panorama shots of the venue, and a couple snaps of her presents. I mean, the folks that hired me said that the pictures were lovely when I showed them off at the end of the celebration, but I didn't agree. They weren't my best work, and it bothered me that someone would accept my mediocrity over my perfection. I wanted to do everything over again, in more ways than one, but that was a wish that no birthday candle could ever grant me."

Without even asking, Eren openly told me about what had happened after he'd gone back to his apartment when the party was over. "Jean was there, when I got home. He must have just showered, because his towel had been slung over the back of the sofa and the room reeked of his body wash's intoxicating aroma. As usual, he greeted me with a kiss and asked me how my day had been, but I didn't say anything to him in return. Not yet, at least. Instead, I simply and silently sat next to him and proceeded to unzip my camera bag. In doing so, I told him how I'd taken pictures at some girl's sweet sixteen that day. He must have figured that I was eager to show him the shots from the party, but the second my camera had been turned on, I immediately began to flash through the photos I'd previously taken until I stopped directly on the image that had been burned into my brain. And you know what? I'm pretty sure that as I was scrolling through those pictures, or maybe even sooner than that, Jean could tell that I'd already figured him out.

_'His name is Marco,' _he said to me. I didn't even have to ask, he just started blabbering about everything he had done behind my back and in my bed with this guy. Apparently he was a part-time model that had been transferred to the same agency where Jean worked. He and Jean hit it off right away and immediately became best friends. But you see, the thing that I didn't realize is that Marco's transfer to his agency hadn't been a recent one...and neither were the beginnings of their affair."

"What do you mean by that?" I almost didn't want to hear the answer to that question. even if it was my own, but before I could revoke my words, Eren had already spoken up.

"Jean and Marco had been sleeping together for over a year."

And that's why I didn't want to hear it. I knew something like that must have been coming, but damn, over a year? From what I could gather, Eren and Jean had been dating for somewhere around two and a half years. The fact that Jean had been avidly cheating on Eren for nearly half the duration of their entire relationship was absolutely disgusting.

"You know," Eren murmured, grabbing my attention with the sound of his gentle voice, "I kept blaming myself for driving him to be with another man, at first. I was under the impression that everything had been okay between us, but that clearly wasn't the case. We kissed all the time and always told one another how happy we made each other. And, uh, the...the sex was great, too. At least, I thought it was..."

I was a bit surprised to hear that Eren had initially claimed the blame for the act of infidelity. The only persons ever at fault for such a thing were the ones committing the crime, not the other way around.

"But that was only at first," Eren quickly clarified. "After trying my best to keep myself calm and composed, I pretty much exploded at him. I started yelling at him and hitting him, asking him how and why he could do such a thing to me, to _us_, over and over again. I know I keep saying this, but do you know what he did after that? Do you know what he did, when I asked him to answer me? When I told him to tell me something that was crazy enough for me to hate him, but intelligent enough for me to understand?"

I honestly couldn't fathom what the idiot would have to say for himself, and so I nodded to give Eren the go ahead.

Rounding his legs so that they hung loosely from the tattoo chair, Eren gave out another heavy sigh - one so weighted that his shoulders slumped backward - before answering his own question. "It's funny, because my self-hatred hadn't been all that far off the mark. Essentially, he told me that one person wasn't enough for someone like him. He needed more _variety_ in his life, and switching things up a bit in the bedroom just wasn't going to cut it. He needed someone _new_, someone who understood what it meant to be involved in an _open_ relationship. Basically, he needed someone who could give him all of the things that I couldn't. All Jean ever needed in his life wasn't someone like me; it was someone like Marco."

It's interesting how the people who cheat never seem to have a justifiable reason for it. Growing tired of your partner is not a valid excuse, nor is the claim that a sense of new excitement was in need of being established. What it all boils down to is a twisted perception of greed, one that hinders the person committing the act from ever realizing that what they had done, or were currently doing, was wrong.

It was a lot to take in, everything that Eren had just told me. Not only had he trusted me enough to talk about something so private (then again, what was "private" with that boy?), but he'd taken the time to remember even the most minor details of a part of his life he must have only been yearning to forget. Realize that was when I felt a sweeping wave of a guilt starting to take over. It wasn't because I felt responsible for what had happened or for making Eren share something so difficult with me - after all, he had been the one who wanted to talk in the first place. My feelings of guilt were insensitive and horribly placed, because even after all that had been said and done, I just had to know _when_ Eren's tattoo had actually become a part of his story and I would be done. Actually, I also wanted to know how long he'd had his ink before discovering the truth about his ex-boyfriend, as well. In order to feel better about myself for asking him something that had the potential of being relatively touchy, I made an internal promise. If the margin from getting his tattoo was anywhere from one to eight weeks before their break-up, Eren's next appointment would be free of charge.

Still swinging his legs and not really saying much else for the time being, Eren seemed to be waiting for me to speak in return, and so I did. He probably wasn't expecting to be acknowledged with an inquiry, though. "You've given me more than enough perspective of why removing this tattoo is so important to you, but Eren, you haven't really told me anything about why you wanted to get one in the first place."

He made a small sound of agreement, and while reaching his hand back to scratch at his neck, I got a good glimpse of his "Freiheit" tattoo again. Damn it, I still needed to ask him what that thing meant. "You've got a point, Levi, but do you _really _want to hear about it again? I mean, it'll probably gross you out. Not only that, but I've already kind of told you some things about my tattoo, and we both felt like throwing up, so..."

A tattoo story grossing out a tattoo artist? Was Eren being for real? Yes, the whole "pet name" thing had been repulsive, but there had to be more to Eren's tattoo than being just some kinky sex stamp. Taking a peek over at one of the clocks that hung proudly against the wall, I said, "Well, if you don't want to tell me, then we'd better cut the chit-chat and go home. It's already 9PM."

Looking at the clock for himself, Eren clicked his tongue and agreed that he would give me the brief rundown of his tattoo to start off, and only add in more details if I asked for them. That sounded fair enough to me, so with a quick head nod, he was given the green light to continue.

"Well, Jean's tattoo wasn't my first, so don't hold your breath; it's not anything super corny like that. However, even after only dating him for a few months, I had already been stupidly considering the possibility of getting a tattoo inspired by him; my only problem was that I didn't know what to get."

"You act fast, don't you?" I snickered.

"Yeah, _too_ fast," he grumbled. "Anyway, I don't know if I should keep going or not. The next part is kind of..."

Gross, right? I had a feeling I knew where he was going with this already. "You're going to talk about those Godawful pet names of yours again, aren't you?"

Laughing awkwardly, Eren began to rub at his neck again. Because of that, literally every single portion of my being was telling me no. I didn't want to hear anything else that had to do with those trashy, illness-inducing names, but it was just my luck that my disgust didn't do enough to curb my curiosity. No matter the discomforts I had to endure by listening to him, I needed to hear his tattoo's tale in full. And besides, the completed background knowledge of Eren's tattoo was the main reason why I'd agreed to do him this service to begin, so there was really no sense in denying him the right to the rest of his story.

"Well, yeah, kind of..."

Treating Eren's hesitance like a fruit fly, I brushed it off and convinced him that I was ready for anything left that he had to throw at me - except punches, of course. That got a genuine laugh out of him, at least.

"Alright, you asked for it, so I guess I don't really have a choice," Eren said, swinging one of his legs back onto the tattoo chair. He held it there, hugging his thigh flush up against his chest, while his eyes shifted away from mine and locked onto the floor. "You see, the first time we did 'stuff' together, Jean had a strange habit of holding his hand firmly against my hip. Every time I, uh...I moaned or something, he'd get nervous that he was hurting me and would loosen his grip, but in reality, his hand had felt _really good _right where it was. Basically, after our first night together, that part of my body became _his _territory, which made it the perfect spot for a tattoo, right?"

"Right." Eren was making good enough sense so far, but that still didn't tell me why the horse had to have been such a vital part of his tattoo. Sure enough, though, it was the next thing he talked about.

"So," Eren said, clearing his throat after just the first word, "you already mentioned our pet names and stuff, so I'm pretty sure you can take a guess as to why I wanted a tattoo with both Jean's name _and _the silhouette of a horse." He was right, I'd already caught on, but even if that was the case, he said his answer aloud anyway. "It was because Jean was my...yeah. I don't need to tell you about that again, I'm sure you remember what he was quite vividly. But really, that wasn't the _only _reason why I wanted the horse to be there. You see, Jean may be a model, but his face is kind of long and not really shapely. Also, if he pulls his lips back like this-" Eren took a moment to obnoxiously demonstrate, "-he looks _exactly _like a horse. No joke. It's actually really weird."

Just when I thought I knew everything that I needed to know about this kid, I was still learning more about him. He was a person who acted quickly, meaning he probably never thought _any_ of his actions through; he was a person who paid special and careful attention to what felt good and to what didn't, e.g. Jean's hand against his hip; and he was a person who liked to put labels on things, because for whatever reason, having Jean's name on his hip just wasn't enough; he had to go the whole nine yards. However, even after gathering up all of this personal information about him, Eren still hadn't answered the two questions I'd been most curious about. Then again, maybe it was because I hadn't specifically _asked_ him about them yet. With the conversation reaching a bit of a standstill, I propped my elbows onto my knees and decided to get the ball rolling again. "What did your ex say, when he saw the tattoo?" That was my first question. "Was it a surprise to him, or did you talk to him about getting one beforehand?"

"Oh, no," Eren said, resting his chin against his kneecap, "I totally wanted it to be a surprise for him. The thing is, though, I had no idea if he was going to appreciate it or not. Like, maybe he wasn't into the whole tattooing-your-boyfriend's-name-onto-your-body kind of thing, you know? Anyway, after I finished actually getting the tattoo, you probably know better than anyone else that I had to hide it from him for at least a day or two until it healed up and didn't make my hip look like smudged up crap. So yeah, with that in mind, I thought it would be tricky to keep my tattoo a secret from him, considering just how often we always ended up being naked, or at least shirtless, around our apartment for one reason or another, but I somehow managed to keep it under wraps all the way up until the big reveal."

The big reveal, huh? Putting it that way made it sound interesting. "And how did you go about doing that?"

"Like we did with all important news that needed to be shared, I guided him onto the sofa and told him to unbutton my pants. He was probably under the impression that I was in the mood for something else, so when he saw the ink on my hip, he was stunned to silence by it. Well, at first. When the idea had finally sunk in, he was asking me all sorts of questions about it. He wanted to know if it was real, if it had hurt, how long it took for me to get it, how long I'd actually _had_ it, and _why _I wanted to get it, so my answers went a little something like this: yes, it's real; no, it didn't hurt; it took about four or five hours; I've had it for two days; and because I love you."

I noticed that Eren had bit the corner of his lip, after admitting his last answer. Love was a dangerous thing, especially when it drove those who were entangled in its sensitive snares to do something as permanent as a body modification.

"That was actually the first time we said 'I love you' to each other, too. I guess it just never crossed our minds to actually say it out loud before, you know? But yeah, that's pretty much where the rest of the answer to that question starts getting bumped up in rating due to its content, so I think I should stop right there."

Good call. I really didn't want to think about it, but the fact that I knew more than was necessary about Eren's sex life with his previous boyfriend was a bit unsettling. Actually, it was _very _unsettling. "Are you serious?" I scoffed. "What were you two, freaking rabbits?"

Eren laughed bitterly at that. It was cold sound, one that was obviously forced, making it difficult for me to hear. "Yeah, I guess..." There was an air of hesitance before he spoke up again, and this time, he wasn't looking at the floor, or the ceiling, or even his own two feet. With eyes that matched the magnificence of the morning sun, portraying a shade of gold so precious that it posed the potential to be priced, what Eren was looking at was _me_.

"I thought we were in love."

Thought. He _thought_ they were in love. As in, at that particular point in time, Eren had been persuaded to believe that there was something incredibly special between him and Jean. But that wasn't the truth. No matter how deeply and passionately Eren wanted to think he and Jean were involved with one another, that would never be the case. As he mentioned, it was only a thought.

Not feeling up to abusing any bushes by beating around them, I got right to my next and final question. It was an odd feeling to have bottled up inside of me, but I decided long before Eren started answering my questions that he would receive some sort of sympathy from me after all of this was over. I didn't know how I was going to make it work per say, but after all, he was just a kid. Maybe a small pat on the shoulder and a genuine statement would be enough for him. The again, depending on his answer to my last question, he just might end up getting himself a free removal session. "I'm sorry for changing the subject, but if you don't mind me asking, how long after you showed Jean your tattoo did you find out that he had been cheating on you?"

There it was again. There was that somber look that made me wonder just how a kid with so much spark and sass could crumble at the drop of a few choice words. Letting his leg slide off the edge of the extended chair, Eren breathed in a way that spoke conclusion. This was it. We'd come full circle. This was the end of what had become the very interesting, very disturbing, and very heartbreaking story behind Eren's "temporary" tattoo.

"I found out the very next day."

And with that, Eren just earned himself a free tattoo removal. Not just one session, either. I was going to remove the entire damn thing from him for free.

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_Well, there you have it! Everything you needed to know about Eren's relationship with Jean and his tattoo have been tied up in this chapter! I'd also like to apologize for its length, seeing as it's a bit shorter than I typically like my chapters to be, but the main purpose of this chapter was really just to piece together all of the loose ends of Eren's past that I really didn't get to cover in the last chapter. We'll be pushing forward from now on, I promise! (:_

_Anyways, that's more than enough rambling for me! I hope you all enjoyed!_

_And as always, thank you for taking the time to read!_

_- Chappy_


	7. Green

There are certain times in this thing called life where you can have something really good going for you at one moment, only to have it all go wrong the next. It's like karma is standing on your front porch, just waiting for you to open the door and let him in. "You've had it good for too long," he would say, "and we need to change that," because that's the lurking danger involved in relationships; you let people _in_. You let them see the sides of yourself that you weren't even aware you had in the first place, sides you'd hate to show to anyone else but the ones you love. It's because of that, being in love is a strength just as much as it is a vulnerability, and Eren has had the unfortunate pleasure of having karma pay him a visit.

I felt bad for the kid, I really did. Sure, he had his spurts of being annoying as Hell, but today, he was somewhat tolerable. Even though I learned more than I probably should have about his relationship with his ex-boyfriend, hearing Eren talk for so long made me feel closer to him. Great, that's just great. All I ever needed in life was to feel a connection with this idiot.

With my fingers gravitating toward my skull, I started massaging my forehead therapeutically. Not being able to completely comprehend how one person could be so disgusting was giving me a headache. Not missing a beat, Eren must have taken my discomfort to notice, because he asked, "Hey, are you okay? I know I kind of said a lot. Maybe it was too much...?"

Lifting my head only slightly, the spaces between my fingers giving me the allowance to peer at him, I reassured him by saying, "You're fine and you didn't talk too much. I'm just trying to wrap my head around everything you've said, that's all."

Eren nodded. "It's a lot to take in, isn't it? My new roommate didn't believe me, when I first told him about it. Then again, he doesn't believe a lot of the things I tell him, so it's whatever."

I didn't feel like asking what he'd meant by that, because I didn't feel like getting into an entirely new conversation. This had been the latest I'd stayed at the shop in a while, and I just wanted to finish locking up so I could head home already, but that wasn't going to happen if Eren and I kept chatting away like two girls at a slumber party.

Sensing my sudden onset of impatience, Eren sighed an apology and slid off of the tattoo chair. "Sorry. I didn't realize how long it would take me to tell you everything. But thanks for listening."

I followed suit by standing up from my stool, only to realize that my lower back had gone stiff. Damn, my posture must have been horrible. "Don't mention it," I said, almost disinterestedly. "I wouldn't have agreed to listen to you talk if I didn't want to listen. I would have just told you to stop."

"That's true," Eren agreed, his words being carried by a small laugh. "I guess I should ask how much I owe you now, huh? And do you prefer cash or credit? Either way, I have both."

"Neither."

Eren was visibly taken aback by my statement, so much so that he briefly became a character in a television sitcom. Looking to his left as if there was someone to express his confusion to, he turned to me a second later and asked, "I'm sorry? No cash, or credit? Do you only take checks, then?"

Oh, Eren's reaction had been too good for words. Before clarifying what I'd meant, I folded my arms and shook my head. "Neither, meaning don't owe me anything."

The face that Eren made when he heard that would have been the cue for the audience's laugh track to play. Was it really that difficult for him to understand? I was going to remove his tattoo for free, it wasn't that big of a deal...or maybe it was. Just then, I'd reached the realization that no more than two weeks ago, I wouldn't have been caught dead agreeing to do a tattoo removal. Add a little bit of time and a dumb kid with an aggressive attitude to the equation, and you had me offering one up for free. I started questioning my sanity.

"But that doesn't make any sense," Eren persisted, and he was right. It _didn't _make any sense. "Of course I owe you for this, Levi. You're not just doing me a favor, this is your_ job_. I'm not going to _not_ pay you for doing your job."

Unfolding my arms, I held a finger up to him. "Correction: I am a tattoo artist, therefore, my job is to provide high-quality designs and skilled artistry to my clients. Removing tattoos is _not_ a part of my job. It is not in my contract and it does not coincide with my policies. If I choose to refuse your payment, that is my choice and you have no other option than to accept it. Understood?" I probably could have phrased that differently, but the fact of the matter was that it got my point across. I was being absolutely serious, and no money meant _no money_ - not even in check form.

Everything about Eren's demeanor screamed hesitance. He looked as if he wanted to speak, but just as his lips parted and began to quiver with willingness, he seemed to have succumb to a state of severe contemplation. Finally, after his third or fourth attempt, he managed to spit out a response. "I...don't know what to say."

I wasn't going to put words into his mouth for him, and so I shrugged. "You could say thank you. There's always that."

"Well, yeah!" There was a hint of sarcasm in Eren's tone, as he said that. "But thank you isn't enough! I mean, you're doing something _so_ incredible for me, something that I'm going to appreciate for the rest of my life, so let me, like, give you a tip, or something. Or dinner? Can I at least buy you dinner?"

"I already ate." Which was true, I _did_ already eat. I had heated up an instant meal during Eren's hardcore nap of steel.

"Well, I haven't," Eren continued to protest. "At least let me treat you to _something_. You could order off of the children's menu, for all I care. I just need to do this, okay?"

The way Eren had phrased that sounded a tad peculiar. _'I just need to do this.' _He didn't _need _to do anything, not as far as I was concerned; however, he thought otherwise, apparently. "Why?"

"Why, what?"

This was going to take all night. Dragging out a sigh, I rested my hand against the base of my neck and elaborated. "Why do you feel that way? Why do you feel like this is something that you _have_ to do? I made you a pretty damn good offer just now. Why can't you just accept it and move on?"

"Because I know that it's a pity offer. While I'm both flattered and grateful for not having to pay, quite frankly, I'm also kind of insulted."

Wow, that was definitely not the response I had been expecting. Then again, who was I fooling? I never knew what to expect with this kid; he was just one surprise after the other. One thing was for certain, though, and it was that Eren was a man who spoke his mind. His mind may have been obnoxious when it was put into words, but hey, I had to appreciate his honesty.

"Fine, then," I said. My response had been mixed with slight amusement. "If that's how it's going to be, I won't put up a fuss. You're obviously as adamant in your ways, as I am in mine, right?"

Eren nodded in agreement. And so, walking past him to the main wall where most of the light switches, as well as the keys for lock-up were kept, I flicked off each switch individually and watched as the space gradually grew darker. Soon, there was nothing left but the streetlights and the head bulbs of passing cars to illuminate the shop. Even in the absence of light, I could still clearly shape the outlines of Eren's confused complexion. Did he not understand what I was implying? This kid really required an explanation for everything, didn't he?

Turning on my heel, I leaned against the frame of the front door. For whatever reason, Eren still didn't seem to be catching my drift. He stood exactly where I had left him, seeming to be in need of further instruction. Fair enough. Grabbing the lock-up keys by their lanyard and twisting them around my wrist, I beckoned him with a small flick of my fingers, one that would hopefully entice him to comply for once in his life. "Now that that's settled, I'll accept your offer. Take me out to dinner."

* * *

After the shop had been locked up and Eren and I had gravitated ourselves onto the loose gravel of the parking lot, he asked me if I had any restaurants in mind. The fact that I had no appetite wasn't really helping the matter, so I simply directed the question back onto him. "Anywhere is fine. Finding a place that's still open is going to be the tough part, though."

Eren seemed concerned, after hearing that. "Still open? What, do restaurants close early around here, or something?"

"Uh, did you forget how late it is? By the time we actually get somewhere, it'll almost be 10PM, and that's typically when most restaurants close."

"Hmm..." Eren pinched his chin with his thumb and his index finger, before slipping both of his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. "Let's just get ice cream, then. There's gotta be a place around here that sells ice cream, right?"

When Eren said things like that, it made me feel as if he wasn't familiar with this part of town. Everyone and their grandma knew about the old-fashioned ice cream parlor down on the street corner. It was located just a couple blocks away from the tattoo shop, which made it rest on that fine line of being too far to walk to, and too close to drive to.

"Yeah, there is," I said, pointing in said direction of the parlor. "It's not too far from here, but if we were to walk, it would probably take us about twenty minutes or so. Are you up for that, or do you want me to drive?"

Shaking his head, Eren began to slowly walk toward where my finger had led him. Stopping on the junction where the gravel had smoothed into solid tar, he tossed me a quick glance from over his shoulder and said, "It's a nice night. It's not raining, and it's not too chilly. I say we walk."

Hey, if that's what he wanted, that was fine by me; I wouldn't have suggested otherwise. Without a word, I kicked up some gravel as I quickened my step and met up with Eren on the junction. After that, we began to walk.

Being someone who always managed to put up a fuss when it came to most things that had to do with Eren, I had to say, walking wordlessly by his side as we watched the nighttime cars pass us by was actually kind of nice. It felt refreshing, not being forced to talk, and on the same notion, I wasn't feeling the heavy weight of an uncomfortable silence. I really hadn't thought that he and I had reached that level in our relationship yet, or that we even _had _a relationship at all. Well, whatever. It was nice, either way.

Because Eren and I had strolled along at our own, leisurely pace, it ended up talking us twenty-five minutes to get to the parlor instead of twenty. Not that big of a difference, but a difference big enough for me to realize that - oh, crap, the parlor closed at 10, and it was already 9:58PM.

"We have to hurry up." I must have spoken up too suddenly, because Eren reacted outrageously with a start. Okay, maybe not _outrageously_. All he had done was jump, and it was kind of...no. I refused to let myself think like that.

"What?" he asked. He was slightly at a loss of breath. "Why?"

"Because the parlor closes in two minutes and we're still a block away."

Eren cussed and kicked his footing into high gear. Even though I had been the unspoken leader for most of our walk, he had quickly stripped me of my title. If there was one thing I could say about his reaction, it would be that Eren must have been incredibly passionate about a lousy scoop of ice cream.

Catching up with him had been the easy part; having to burst through the front doors of the parlor and nearly spooking the living daylights out of one of the part-time workers? Not so much. With that being said, the interior was just like I remembered. Everything about it, from the wacky walls and the quirky seating arrangements, right down to the speckled flooring made out of tacky tiles, everything practically screamed the late 50s. Because of its expressive individuality that made it different from all of the other ice cream shops in the area, it was no wonder why this place had become so popular, and it still baffled me how Eren had known absolutely nothing about it.

After regaining some of her composure, the docile teenager scampered around to get herself positioned behind the counter, before welcoming us to the shop. "What can I get for you?"

That was a good question. I couldn't remember the last time I had actually consumed ice cream. It had to have been well over a year ago. Just because _I_ was having trouble deciding on what I wanted, that didn't mean that Eren was bound by the same conflict. In fact, he seemed to have his order ready right away.

"I'll have two scoops of mint chocolate chip on a sugar cone. Oh, and rainbow sprinkles, too, please."

Mint chocolate chip and rainbow sprinkles? That sounded like a nasty combination to me. But even if I was disgusted by it, I wasn't the one who would be eating it, which left me with absolutely no say in Eren's odd ice cream choices. I'd be lying if I said that it didn't get me thinking, though. What his taste was like in other things. Did he like spicy foods? Or maybe he was more into sweets?

What was I doing? I didn't have time to think about this. It was my turn to order.

As Eren stepped aside, giving me a chance to get a better look at the variety of different flavor options, I noticed the young worker's demeanor beginning to shift. Now that _I _was her customer, she seemed to become more uptight than before. Half of my brain was telling me that it must have been the tattoos that were putting her off, but the other half was convinced that it had to have been my overall intimidation. I'd never be certain which half was actually correct, though. It could have been both halves, and it could have been neither; that didn't stop me from finally choosing to get two scoops of black cherry ice cream - topped with even _more _black cherries - in a cup, as opposed to a cone.

With both of our orders rung up and accounted for, it was time to head back outside. It would have been nice to sit around and enjoy the retro atmosphere for a bit longer, but it was already five minutes past closing. As a shop owner myself, I knew the annoyances of having to deal with customers after hours, and so we slipped out through the front doors without making anymore trouble for the workers. Hey, even if we couldn't eat our ice cream inside, at least there were a few benches, along with a low-set brick wall for us to sit on. Like Eren had mentioned earlier, it was a nice night, so why not enjoy it to its fullest?

Following Eren's lead, we sat down on the wall and began eating our ice cream. While the silence between us may have been comfortable while we were walking, now that the sounds of slurping and sucking were added into the mix, it started to feel a bit strange.

"There are no stars out tonight," Eren noticed. I looked over at him. "Then again, the stars never seem to come out around here."

"We live in the suburbs, what do you expect?" I dug my spoon into my cup and scooped out a large chunk of cherry. Before popping it into my mouth, I added, "Saying things like that makes you sound like you're not from around here."

"Because I'm not." And there it was, the answer to my lingering question. "I just moved here at the start of the spring semester. I've only been living in this town for about three months or so."

That explained so many things, like why Eren hadn't known about the ice cream parlor, or how he had to research local tattoo shops in his area to find mine. I was about to ask him where he was originally from, but was quickly sidetracked when he took another lick from his cone.

Watching him slide his way up and down the sides of his icy treat, my main focus was on his tongue. I'm not sure how I hadn't noticed it before, but Eren's tongue was pierced. I was already well aware of the fact that he had some piercings on his ears, so "shock" probably wasn't the best word to describe how I felt towards this new discovery. Taken aback, maybe? Intrigued?

Eren stopped in mid-lick, when he realized that I had been watching him. With his tongue still pressed to his cone, he sounded like a kid who had licked a metal pole on a cold day, as he tried to talk. "Uh, is something wrong?"

"No, it's nothing. I was just noticing that your tongue is pierced."

For the love of God, Eren smirked at that. Licking the rest of the way up his cone, he swallowed the ice cream that had pooled on his palate and stuck his tongue back out. That was gross. Some of his sprinkles had gotten stuck beneath his piercing, whereas the rest of his tongue was coated in a thin layer of green food dye. Yes, definitely an attractive sight to see.

Even after slipping his tongue back into his mouth, Eren couldn't seem to stop smirking. Ugh, what an arrogant little brat. "Do you like piercings, Levi?"

"I wouldn't say that I like them, but I do notice them." I was into a different kind of needle; a tattoo needle. Piercing my ears or any other part of my body was a thought that had honestly never crossed my mind.

Shrugging, Eren suggested, "Maybe you should think about getting some. Personally, I think you would look good with snake bites."

Things got a kind of quiet after that. Unfazed by the lack of conversation, Eren continued to lick and lap at his sprinkled ice cream cone. Was I the only one who thought that eating and silence was a horribly uncomfortable combination?

I was relieved when Eren quickly conjured up a new topic for us to converse about, but what I wasn't so grateful for was that it ended up being the start of a discussion that I wasn't so sure I wanted to get into. "You know," he began, as he collected a few sprinkles onto his tongue, "I talked a lot about myself tonight, but I still know very little about you."

Fitting the spoon back into my mouth and sucking on the plastic, I asked, "Yeah? What's your point?"

"Well, I obviously want to get to know you better, and since I sort of slept through my chance to ask you questions and stuff, why not now?"

Like I said, this wasn't really a discussion I was up for, but it was better than having to listen to the sounds of Eren's tongue slurping and slapping against his ice cream cone in silence. "I mean, if that's what you want, then I don't have a problem with it." I had a slight problem with it. "What do you want to know?"

Suddenly seeming very interested, Eren scooted himself across the wall so that he was seated closer to me. Legs crossed and ready to listen, he said, "Tell me a little bit about why you wanted to become a tattoo artist. Why not just a regular artist? You know, with canvases and portraits and stuff?"

Oh, if only Eren knew about the canvases I had back at my apartment. If only he knew...

Sighing, I shoved my spoon back into my cup and set it down on the wall. Things were about to get rather personal; I had to prepare myself. I began by saying, "I had my heart set on becoming a quote, unquote 'regular artist' from a very young age. I would stick my hands into anything that I could find and I would just..._create_. People used to say that I was so inspirational, and that my imagination would get me far in life. But sure enough, this funny thing called 'getting older' started to happen, and I guess that's when reality finally hit...and it hit pretty damn hard.

In high school, I was made fun of for drawing in my text books and for taking as many art courses as I possibly could. Eventually, it got to the point where I dropped everything. I didn't want to amount to nothing but the starving artist everyone claimed I would be. It had been so drilled into my brain that art was a one-way ticket to homelessness that soon enough, I'd completely forgotten how much of a passion I had for it. Luckily, Hanji was there to remind me."

"Did you and Hanji meet in high school?" Eren wondered.

"College," I corrected him. "She was an art major, and I was undecided. Because of her, I was reminded of who I truly was. I was an artist at heart, and no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, no suit-and-tie career was ever going to change that."

I continued to tell Eren some of the stockpile stories I had, stories from back when I was in college. There was one story in particular that I knew he would get a kick out of. "When we were being taught how to draw the anatomy, one of our assignments was the paint a particular part of someone else's body and explain why you chose that part. It goes without saying that Hanji and I ended up being partners. For my body part, she chose to paint my arm, the significance of it being that I had just recently gotten my first tattoo on my arm. But for her body part, she ended up sprawling herself across dorm room bed, and demanded that I not only chose one of her body parts, but all of them. Essentially, she wanted me to paint her like 'one of my French girls'."

I was right. After hearing that ridiculous quote, Eren snorted. Because of that, he ended up getting a bit of ice cream on the tip of his nose. I really didn't want to admit, in fact, I tried to force myself against it, but it was kind of adorable how Eren made a huge fuss about his dirty nose, making sure that he had wiped it all off. Just the way that he nudged his face into back of his sleeve, he really reminded me of...a kitten. Crap.

When he had finally settled, Eren asked, "Did you do it?"

"Do what? Paint Hanji naked?" He nodded. "Yeah, I did. It took around five or six hours, but I ended up getting the highest grade in the class for one of the most controversial masterpieces of the semester."

As Eren continued to laugh, I took the opportunity to finish my melting ice cream; it would have been a waste to let Eren's treat go to waste. Popping the last of the cherries into my mouth, I chewed it thoroughly and waited to see if the kid had any other questions. For the time being, however, he seemed to be very focused on finishing up the rest of his ice cream as well, which was threatening to melt down his arm if he wasn't careful enough.

While waiting, I let the ghost of the nightly breeze tickle my nose and play with the hairs of my fringe. I felt more relaxed than I ever thought I would have, sitting next to that brat. But you know, after the deeply personal evening we'd spent together, being in the wake of his presence was almost enjoyable...almost.

Shortly after I had set my cup aside, Eren began biting into his cone, and it wasn't much longer after that initial _crunch_ that he was done, too. Truth be told, it would have been nice to sit around for a little while longer, but with twenty-five minutes of walking ahead of us, it was better if we left.

The striking difference between our walk to and back from the parlor was that, this time around, we weren't silent. Eren and I resumed our talk about my college days, and after speaking so much nonsense about my passions and my drives, it was no wonder when he asked, "Levi, what's your biggest dream? Like, what's something that you really want to achieve?"

The sense of deja vu was uncanny, seeing as Hanji had asked me the _very same_ thing right before we had graduated. Even though we both grew older and our interests may have been slightly different from what they were back then, my dream was something that would always remain a constant. It was never going to change.

Stepping onto the thick gravel of the unpaved parking lot, I turned to Eren and looked directly at him. We'd been speaking through sideways glances for most of the night, that it almost felt odd to hold such focused eye contact with him. And you know what everyone says, right? It's dangerous to look directly at the sun.

"My dream has always been to paint the town," I started quietly, however, my tone gradually grew louder as my speech progressed. "Not a portrait of the town, but the town itself. I want to drown this suburb in color and make thr city feel psychedelic. I don't even really know _why_ I want to do it, but it's always been a fantasy of mine, so becoming a tattoo artist was the next best thing for me - I figured that if I can't paint the town itself, I can paint all of its people."

For what felt like an eternity, Eren simply stared at me in awe. Had my dream baffled him? Did it freak him out? No, that couldn't be it. He wouldn't have been smiling if he had felt uncomfortable or confused. Stepping closer, he murmured, "I think that's an awesome dream to have," before slipping his hands into his back pockets. I doubted that I was mistaken, but within those very short moments, there had been a definite shift in the atmosphere between us. Somehow, things had gone from being open and relaxed to feeling slightly like a predator and his prey.

Eren had gone from standing fifteen _feet _away to standing fifteen _inches _away, and just as I was about to step back and ask him why he'd felt the need to be so close to me, he questioned, "Levi, do you want to know what my dream is?"

Tonight had been a night of learning new things. I'd learned things about Eren that he surely wouldn't have shared with a stranger on the streets, and he learned things about me that I typically liked to keep to myself, so why not learn what his dream was, as well? As much as it pained me to admit - so many painful admissions - we were already inevitably becoming closer...closer..._closer_..._too close_.

Before I could even blink, there was the soothing sensation of something metallic and wet sliding across my lips, a sensation that was met with the feeling of something much softer, something much more skilled. Lips. These were lips that were playing with mine, and just as I'd become accustomed to their presence, the fragile feeling had stopped and Eren had pulled away.

I'd never be certain why he had felt inclined to kiss me that night. Although our trip to the ice cream parlor had been reasonably questionable, it hadn't been a date. Unless, did Eren see it that way? I would have asked, but he was already stalking backwards toward his car.

Wearing the proudest little smirk on his face, he shot me a wave and left me with a few words of parting. If I'd been so caught up in the sentiment of our evening that I'd forgotten how much of a little brat he truly was, his following statement served as a grim reminder of that.

"If you want to know what my dream is, you're going to have to figure it out for yourself. Oh, and that kiss just now? That was a hint."

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_Alright, I'm much happier with the length of this chapter! Again, I really apologize for last week's shorter chapter, but hopefully the contents of this update made up for that! And speaking of its contents, I wonder what Eren's dream is, hmm? (;_

_On another note, the pacing of this chapter was quite slow paced, but I really enjoyed writing for it, and I hope you all enjoyed it, as well! _

_And of course, thank you for taking the time to read! I always appreciate it!_

_- Chappy_


	8. Purple

Eren's kiss hadn't been my first kiss from another man. Truth be told, it hadn't been my second, or even my third. Sexuality had always been something that I'd never really paid much attention to anyway. I kissed whoever I felt like kissing and that was that. Love is defined by too many unnecessary labels and strict moral codes, yet lust has always been a gray area free-for-all. Have I experienced both? Maybe. Have I experienced neither? Quite possibly. The point of the matter is a point that brings us back to the very beginning: Eren's kiss hadn't been my first kiss from another man.

With that being said, Eren's kiss _had been _the first kiss, from either a man or a woman, to leave me absolutely dumbfounded.

Just before getting into his car, Eren had peered back at me and had shot me another Godawful grin. This kid was so full of himself, it wasn't even comprehensible. I folded my arms against my chest and held my ground regardlessly. When I habitually licked my dry lips, I cussed. Damn it, why did I do that? Not only had I made myself appear interested, but now I had to deal with the sharp taste of mint on my tongue.

I heard Eren chuckle. "Something the matter, Levi?"

"No. Go home."

Another chuckle. Another laugh. Another reminder of how annoying this kid actually was.

After Eren had finally stepped into his car, it took him about a minute to get himself situated, rev up the engine, and pull out of his parking spot. I listened to the sound of his tires grinding against the gravel as he began to drive away, but not before he edged closer to me and rolled down his window. Great. Now what?

"Can I help you?" I asked irritably.

Eren snickered again. How many times was this boy going to laugh? I didn't find anything about this scenario funny. "No, but I can help you."

"...Excuse me?" I didn't appreciate the way Eren had flipped my question around and brought it back to me. A sense of tension started prickling at the back of my neck.

Eren ran his hand along the smooth leather of his steering wheel, tapping his thumb to the dull rhythm of the radio music. "Your dream. About painting the town?"

"Uh, yeah? What about it?" Why was he bringing that up again? Hadn't the spotlight been shifted onto what _his_ mystery dream was? Quite frankly, Eren's dream was probably a lot more interesting than mine if it's sole hint - for now - was a kiss.

Eren drummed his thumb one last time, before his expression became rather serious. I didn't understand what had caused the sudden change at first, but that was only until Eren had opened his mouth and said the words that would plague my thoughts until our next meeting.

"I'm going to help you make your dream a reality, Levi. I'm going to help you paint the town."

After Eren drove away, I climbed into my own car and sat at the wheel for nearly ten minutes without moving a muscle (except for my tongue. I accidentally licked my lips again, ugh). Eren was going to help me achieve my dream? That's what he'd said, but for the life of me, I couldn't understand _why_. He thought my dream was awesome, I knew that much, but for him to actually want to strive to make it happen didn't make sense to me.

I don't remember when or how, but I managed to drive myself back to my apartment shortly after having that perplexing pondering session. With Eren's words still floating around in my head, I turned the corner and stepped into the bathroom; that's where I brushed away the taste of mint with even _more_ mint.

Getting undressed and taking a shower seemed like a good idea, one that would get my mind off of everything, but I was a thinker. All I ever did was think, and for whatever reason, that notion was amplified when I was in the shower. There was only one time when my brain was set free and no longer bound by the burden of thoughts, and that was when I was painting.

But I didn't feel like painting tonight.

The thought of sticking my fists into tubs of paint and slapping them against a canvas normally would have aroused me endlessly, but tonight, I just wasn't feeling it. All I wanted to do was lay down on my bed and chase my head demons away without getting my fingers dirty.

_'I'm going to help you make your dream a reality, Levi.'_

Damn it.

_'I'm going to help you paint the town.'_

_Damn it_.

I shoved my face into my pillow and grumbled an array of expletives. Only two people in this world knew about that asinine fantasy of mine, and those people were Hanji and Eren. It had taken Hanji until the very end of our senior year for me to open up to her about it, but Eren? Roughly two weeks into our acquaintanceship and he had already discovered one of my most personal desires. I felt naked. I _was_ naked.

I hadn't quite accomplished the shower part of my original idea, but I did end up getting undressed. Breathing heavily against the softness, I lifted my head and looked over at my nightstand where my phone was charging. Curiosity had me turning it on; muted annoyance had me shutting it back off. It was already midnight and I had to be awake in six hours. Super.

Placing my worries about the screw in my sleep schedule to rest, I began to meditatively focus on my surroundings. Drowning out Eren's words with a new set of thoughts and senses, I paid special attention to the way the bedsheets felt against my bare skin as I tossed and turned on top of them. This felt familiar. I curled my toes against the comforter and dug my fingers into the smooth plush of the mattress. That felt good. When I closed my eyes, it felt _better_. While relaxation had been the primary goal of my lazy exercise, sleep did not come along with it.

I was up all night making love to my senses.

Somewhere around 6AM, my phone began to beep destructively and I jolted awake. For the first time in months, I had been awoken by a machine instead of by the sun. I was a bit perturbed, but only until I made an effort to look out the window. That's when I realized that my good friend the sun was hiding behind my even better friend, the clouds.

Sliding my finger along the smooth display screen of my cell, the incessant alarm silenced itself immediately. I unplugged my phone from its charger and began to blink away my fatigue. What day was it again? Wednesday? I couldn't remember, and just as I was about to check, my attention was drawn over to the three notifications that had piled up in the messaging application.

All three messages were from Hanji.

In the first message, she apologized for her behavior the other day and for trashing the shop in my absence. In the second message, she stated that she had intentions to arrive to work early the following day (meaning today) to clean up the mess she made. Lastly, she informed me that one of our clients had e-mailed her to cancel his sleeve coloring due to a stomach bug and that he would like to reschedule his appointment. Reading that final text reminded me that Eren had never officially scheduled his next session with me. I mean, I had a general idea of when I'd see his dumb face around my shop again, but nothing was in the books yet. But knowing him, he'd probably call us the night before he made up his mind about when he wanted to come in next.

I had already typed out half of my response to Hanji, when I backtracked and deleted the entire thing. If she had supposedly stuck to her statement, then she would be arriving at the shop soon. I'd hold off for a bit and talk to her in person. After all, I had a lot to tell her.

Brushing off the chill of the early morning as it prickled and played with my skin, I untangled myself from the bedsheets and began to stretch. For getting virtually no sleep last night, I felt decently refreshed. Not knowing what to blame, I attributed it to being nude.

My comforter had a hard time letting go of my hips. As I moved to stand, it draped against my waist like a flowing skirt of royalty before pancaking to the floor. How majestic. I'd pick it up later. I needed to shower first.

In the two steps that it took to get from the bedroom to the bathroom, I noticed something strange. The wooden floorboards beneath my feet, normally swept and polished to perfection, were speckled and splotched with paint. Purple paint. Only purple paint.

That was unsettling.

Curiosity had me following the tacky trail of partially dried paint, sluggishly and skeptically, as it led me toward the main room of my apartment. With each step, a subtle feeling of anxiety began to eat away at my stomach. I had been under the impression that my night had been a restless one, but if that were the case, why did I _wake up _this morning? How long was I asleep? How long was I asleep? _How long was I asleep?_

I've been known to paint in my sleep before, but never like _this_.

In prior instances when I'd discovered the aftermath of my sleep painting, the results had always been an absolute mess. There was never any theme or overall image on the canvas, just colors. Lots and lots of colors. Yellows and blues and reds and greens, never just _one_...until today.

I didn't have as dramatic of a reaction as I probably should have, because I had long been desensitized to the bizarre masterpieces my unconscious mind liked to create. While I was admittedly impressed at my ability to _construct_ an actual, distinguishable image in the wake of my somewhat sleeplessness, it was the image itself that had me clenching my forehead and turning for the shower.

Why was it that all my fingers wanted to paint was Eren?

I cursed. Why had it taken until I was in the shower for me to realize that my arms were bathed in streaks of crusty paint? That beneath my fingernails were caked with the same coating? Why had it taken until I had returned to my bedroom with a fresh set of eyes for me to realize that my bedsheets were smeared with violet? And why had it taken until now, until there were three, Eren-inspired canvases perched proudly in the corner of my apartment, for me to accept that there was something wrong with all of this? Something wrong with _me_?

I had even more to tell Hanji now.

* * *

I skipped my morning coffee - I'd deeply regret that decision later - and drove directly to the shop. Luckily, I didn't have to play much of a waiting game with the red lights, but that hardly mattered. I'd still have to wait for Hanji.

Even if her text message read that she was coming in early, I ended up pulling into an empty lot. After parking in my spot, I turned off the ignition and leaned back in my seat. It took me a minute before I decided to reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. I slowly swiped my finger across the display screen. 7:03AM. Early? Yeah, right.

I saw no use in waiting for her in the cramped space of my car. With little hesitance, I climbed out and headed for the front doors of the shop. As I was fumbling around to find the key that opened the front instead of the back, I heard the distinctive crunch of tires combing their treads against gravel and turned around just in time to see Hanji parking her car next to mine.

"Hey, you're late," I said, after she'd already climbed out of her car. She shook her head, as she walked toward me.

"Isn't that my line?" she sighed amusedly. "You've been late every day for the past few weeks. Yesterday, you came in after 4PM."

I could have responded to that snobbishly, with something along the lines of, "This is my shop. I can do whatever I want," but only shrugged instead. As annoying as she was, Hanji didn't deserve that kind of bossy attitude, nor would she accept it even if I had acted that way. Before we were employees, we were friends. Not even business labels could change that.

Unlocking the doors and letting myself inside, I flipped on the lights and looked around. Everything seemed kind of out of place and far too familiar. I felt like I had just been there, like going home and rolling around in my sheets had only been a fantasy and not a reality. Oh, but that painting made it real. Too real. _Really_ real.

I tossed the keys onto the front counter and scanned our list of clients for the day. Aside from the person who called in, we had three other customers to tend to. The only problem was that all of their appointments weren't until the afternoon, meaning that it was going to be another boring morning until one of them showed up (the chances of a weekday walk-in were highly unlikely).

As I sat in the office chair that we kept stationed behind the front counter, Hanji breezed past me and headed into the back room. I assumed she was going to brew up a pot of coffee, or something, so I didn't question her about it. When she came back empty-handed, I gave her a funny look. "What was that for?"

"What was what for?" she asked, but she ended up answering her own question. "Oh, that? I was cleaning out the mini fridge. You always complain about it smelling, so... By the way, did you get my text messages?"

I nodded. "I did. If you're wondering why I didn't respond, it's because I figured we could just talk in person. I thought you were already going to be here, by the time I arrived."

"You did? Were you waiting long, then?"

"Nah, like, two minutes."

Hanji made a puffy sound with her lips, before saying, "Oh, that's nothing. You had me worried! When you say it like that, it makes me think that you were waiting for hours!"

"I haven't been up for hours." Well, sort of.

"Neither have I."

There was a chance that neither of us would own up to it, but there had been, understandably, an air of tension between the two of us since yesterday. Now that we were just shooting the breeze and small talking our way into our bigger, pending conversation, that tension had completely dissipated. It was times like this when I was reminded of just how close Hanji and I really were, whether we liked it or not.

Folding my arms against my chest, I sighed and began to lean back in my chair. Hanji cleared away a small space for herself on the counter and plopped down on top of it. Carelessly swinging her legs, she started to say, "So, about yesterday..."

I immediately assumed she was referring to the mess she'd made of my shop. "Don't worry about it. It's in the past."

"Oh! Well, yeah, there's that, too." Okay, maybe that _wasn't _what she'd been referring to. "I'm still really sorry about that, too. I turned my back for a second, and then boom! Everything was in ruins!" I hardly believed that was the case. "But what I was about to say, or rather _ask_, was how your session with Eren went."

And so it began. The wonderfully exotic tale about one of the most bizarre nights of my entire life - and I've had many - was about to be told.

"He fell asleep."

Hanji blinked. She blinked, and then she did the same thing that Eren had done where she looked to her left for some invisible entity's confirmation that she'd heard me correctly. "I'm sorry, what? He fell _asleep_?"

I shrugged again. "Yeah. About ten minutes into the treatment, I would say."

Hanji just couldn't seem to wrap her head around the fact that Eren had a cringe-worthy pain tolerance. Slamming her palms against the counter, she gasped, "How is that even possible?! Tattoo removals _really _hurt!"

Again, I shrugged. Was that the third time I'd shrugged today? Thinking about it made me want to shrug again. "I was surprised by it, too. I kind of thought that he was being a little too quiet, and then I realized that it was because he'd fallen asleep."

"Wow, that's just...wow." Hanji recoiled her hands and rested them delicately against her lap. "So, tell me about what happened after that. I mean, he obviously woke up, right?"

"Yeah, but not for another, like..." I tried to do the math in my head with little success. I shouldn't have skipped out on my morning coffee. "...Three hours? Well, anyway, by the time he woke up, I'd already finished working on him. Afterward, I had enough time to give him ice treatment, eat dinner, tidy up a bit around the shop, and then _close_ the shop."

Hanji gasped again. "He slept past closing?"

"Yup. Even he was pretty shocked, when I told him that."

"So, he eventually just woke up on his own?"

Nodding, I told Hanji about how I had planned to start rearranging the ink shelf when I heard him waking up. "He didn't seem to realize that he'd fallen asleep and was actually pretty bummed about it. He'd wanted to use his session as a time for us to talk and get to know each other better, I guess. Even though he knew how late it was, he asked if I'd be willing to listen to him talk for a bit, and so I did."

Hanji was particularly intrigued by that final statement, so much so that she requested further explanation. "Talk? What did you two talk about?"

A question like that coaxed me to sit forward in my chair and prop my elbows onto the counter. With cupped hands and a "this-stays-between-you-and-me" aura of expression, I said, "We talked about his ex-boyfriend."

I knew that with a heavy response like that, Hanji would ask me to elaborate again. Without waiting for her to do so, I continued to say, "He talked about how they met and things like that. I also learned that Eren is studying photography, or at least that he's really passionate about it. Going into all of the details that he went into would take forever, so I'll just say this: Eren's had to deal with something that no one in a relationship should ever have to go through."

Hanji wasn't dumb. She probably had a vague sense of what I was getting at, but just to be certain, she asked, "And what's that?"

I lowered my gaze. "Being utterly betrayed."

"Are you saying that he was...cheated on? That's really rough, wow." In the beat of a second, Hanji's expression had completely dropped. And the thing is, she hadn't even heard the worst of it yet. When I told her about how Eren had found Jean's sex tape on his camera and how he had gotten his tattoo a few days prior - with the _reveal_ of his tattoo being only one day before the discovery - she cursed and began to shake her head. "All of that really happened? That's what he told you?"

"Basically, yeah."

Hanji didn't realize how fortunate she was to be hearing all of this information second-handedly. Unlike myself in most situations, she was the type of person who was deeply routed by their emotions. She stopped for stray cats and pouted at the sight of roadkill. She definitely wouldn't have been able to stomach the weight of Eren's story, not face-to-face at least.

After taking a minute to let everything sink in, Hanji threw her head back and expelled a musical sigh, one that was akin to the puffy lip noise she made earlier. "It's pretty painful, you know? I mean, when you think about it, Eren didn't _want _to get his tattoo removed; he _had _to get his tattoo removed."

I hadn't thought of it that way, until Hanji had put it into words. Eren never asked to be cheated on; no one ever does. But it happened. Was he still in love with Jean after he'd found that tape? Maybe. Was he still in love with Jean _now_? Who knows. Then again, would he have kissed me if that were the case? Probably not. Which reminded me...

"There's something I still haven't told you, Hanji, something that happened last night." Actually, there were multiple "somethings", but seeing as they all kind of tied into one, singular "something", I didn't bother getting all technical.

That got her attention right away. "Oh? And what's that?"

Opting to slowly lean back in the chair again, I gave Hanji a brief overview of how the rest of the night played out. Eren finished his story, I told him he didn't have to pay me, he said he felt offended and insisted that I be paid in the form of food, and then we went out for ice cream.

Hanji shoved her hand in my face, and begged, "Wait, wait, wait. You two went out for ice cream together?" I nodded. "You and Eren?" I nodded again. "Last night?" Again. "_Ice cream_?"

"Yeah." Hanji's disbelief was understandable, but really, why in the Hell would I lie to her about something like this? She clearly knew that I could barely stand the kid. Why would I make up some fantasy about us frolicking around with ice cream and idle chatter at 10 o' clock at night? My honesty should have been obvious.

If she was having trouble comprehending only the surface of what I had to tell her, hearing what I had to say next was going to make her drown.

"So, the ice cream was good, I guess. But as we were saying our goodbyes or whatever, Eren randomly asked me what my biggest dream was." I saw Hanji's eyes squint skeptically at that, but she allowed me to continue. "I don't doubt that you remember what I told you, right? Well, I essentially told him the same thing. It felt really weird having to put it into words again. At first, I was almost positive that Eren wouldn't understand what I meant by 'paint the town' or that he would laugh at me like it was a joke, but he accepted it almost instantly. After that, he asked me if I wanted to know what his dream was and I figured, you know, why not? I'd told him mine, so why not hear his? That's when he kissed me."

If Hanji had been drinking something, she would have spit said drink all over me. Oh, but her saliva would have to do. "I'm sorry, _**what**_? Did you just say that-?"

"He kissed me," I said, interrupting her. The last thing I needed was for her to go and make this whole thing more dramatic than it had to be. "Apparently it was a hint to what his dream is, but he didn't say anything else. Well, he did say that he was going to help me make my dream a reality, but that was it."

"It?!" Hanji's voice had magically raised several octaves with a single syllable. "Levi, that's more than enough!" She jumped off of the counter and immediately began to pace. With her arms wildly flailing about and her head turning this way and that, she sort of resembled a dysfunctional robot. "I can't believe you and Eren...and he and you...after going out for ice cream...the two of you kissed and...Levi?"

"Hm?" I hadn't been expecting her to address me directly; she'd seemed pretty in the zone with herself.

"Is there anything else you haven't told me? Like, am I totally missing something here? Are you and Eren...?"

"No," I stated firmly. "Whatever you were about to ask, the answer is no." But there _was_ something else that I hadn't told her yet, something very important for artists like she and I, and I was ninety-seven percent certain that once Hanji knew about my little "issue", she wouldn't look at me the same way.

I could have been wrong in that assumption, though. After all, before we were employees, we were friends, and friends didn't judge each other, right?

"Hanji, I started painting again," I whispered. It wasn't like I had stopped painting because of some super serious reason, or whatever. It was merely the fact that I could only ever seem to paint - and paint _well _- when I was overcome by an intense emotion or overwhelming thought. For example, there was a time when a client had gotten me so fired up (and believe it or not, that client _wasn't_ Eren) that I'd painted the most vibrantly detailed inferno I had ever created. We kept that painting, along with our countless number of reject sketches, in the back room to remind us that customers can kind of suck sometimes, but you know, whatever.

Hanji stopped pacing and turned to look at me again. Like I mentioned before, Hanji wasn't dumb. She knew about my painting style and she knew what factors had to be present in order for me to paint. Based on the context clues of our conversation, and with how randomly I'd brought it up, she more than likely could tell where I was going with this. "You have?" she asked, almost hesitantly. "What have you been painting?"

I made it my choice not to answer her. I saw no point in it. Her fixed expression told me that she already had the correct answer in her head, and so she dropped it. She asked me something else, instead.

Walking slowly to the front counter after her episode of pacing had reached its conclusion, Hanji rested her palms against its smooth surface and stared at me interrogatively. I could only remember one other time when she had worn such a serious look on her face, and it had been when she was convincing me not to give up on my unadulterated passion for art. In her mind, apparently, this matter was just as important.

"Levi," she said, slowly and simply, "are you falling in love with Eren?"

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_Writing this chapter was so exciting! Things are finally happening, gears are finally turning, and emotions are finallyforming! However, I'd like to apologize for the severe lack of Eren in this chapter, but no worries! He'll be back in the next one. (:_

_Even without our cocky little brat, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, nonetheless! If I didn't make it explicitly obvious already, I really enjoyed writing for this chapter, haha!_

_Anyways, as always, thank you for taking the time to read!_

_- Chappy_

_P.S. I feel like this is something a lot of authors mention at the end of every chapter, but I usually forget! If you want to follow my tumblr, it's kairixxxsora16. I mostly reblog a lot of Eren/Levi stuff and post chapter updates, so yeah! That's pretty much it. Thank you again! (:_


	9. Orange

Love was an emotion I never thought someone like myself would fall into. Fantasies and romances that involve the "L" word are so hyped up by the media and society that I feel nauseated just thinking about them. Then again, if there isn't love, what else is there? Oh, there's hatred. Love and hatred have always been the two, prime emotions that every other feeling or sense has stemmed from. From love, there is like, happiness, pain, etc. From hatred, there is fear, jealousy, anger, and so on and so forth. To be in love with someone means you want to give them the world; to hate them means that you want nothing more than to take their world away.

Was I falling in love with Eren? That's a good question. I sure as Hell better not be.

"Why would you ask something like that?" I questioned calmly, collectively. Lashing out at Hanji for stating an innocent question would have made me look stupid.

Sighing, Hanji curled her fingers against the counter and hung her head. For a moment or so, she didn't say anything, but when she opened her mouth, it was only to ask another question. "Do you remember what happened the last time you started painting this passionately, Levi? Actually, it might be better to ask if you remember _why _you were painting so passionately. Do you?"

I'd done something like this before? When? If Hanji was the one bringing it up, then it had to be true. But why couldn't I remember...?

Oh. _That's why_.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I remember."

* * *

It was over a decade ago, back when Hanji and I were still in college. She had just started bothering me about pursuing a major in art with minute success. From an estimated distance, I would see her working on colorful projects that involved cotton balls and sidewalk chalk, while I worked on my lame, common core assignments. I envied her because of that. When I saw her smiling with pride because she had created something wonderful, I wanted to _be _her. Why couldn't I be an artist like her? Why couldn't I indulge myself in my passions like her? Why couldn't I _accept myself _like her?

There was no turning back from there. The itches and the tingles were already crawling up my arms, and they wouldn't disappear until I did what had to be done.

I needed to paint.

I'm not entirely sure what happened, or _how_ it happened, but all I can remember is that one moment, I was lying lethargically on a firm mattress in my dorm room, and then the next, I was standing in the corner of one of the art galleries on campus, staring wondrously at the _mess_ I'd made.

My fingers were dripping with orange; my heart, a fiery inferno. I wanted to keep going. I wanted to do more. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so _good_.

"It's beautiful." That was the voice I'd heard. I'd convinced myself that it was just a figment from inside my head, but then I felt hands. Arms. Breasts. "It's really very beautiful."

Hanji held me from behind, stroking my slick arms, as we marveled at my mistake of a masterpiece. What did she see in it that I wasn't seeing? How was something that looked like carrot vomit beautiful? Without thinking, I asked her to explain her reasoning to me. "Why do you think it's beautiful? It's hideous."

Humming a soft tune while she continued to rub my arms, she whispered, "Why do you think it's hideous?"

"I asked you first." It was a childish response, I knew that, but I had an alibi. I wasn't thinking straight.

Hanji was still humming along to her unknown song as she let go of me. No longer was I caged by her suffocatingly warm hold. Instead, she stalked up to the corner wall and began to inspect it. Soon enough, I was certain, she would change her mind and deem it a hideous mess after all.

After painfully silent seconds of surveying had passed, Hanji turned back to me and shook her head. "It's really no good." There it was. "I just can't seem to give you a proper answer to your question, unless you give me an answer to mine first." Wait, what?

Quickly becoming irritated with her puzzling logic, I irritably asked, "Why does it matter why I think it's hideous? I'm the one who painted it, so I'm free to think whatever I want. I want to know why _you _think it's beautiful."

She folded her arms and nodded. "Fair enough. And with that, you've answered my question."

I had no idea _how _any of that had answered her question. All I'd done was state what I thought about my mess and how she was deliberately avoiding giving me an answer, but to her, I'd said so much more than that.

Looking wistfully at the corner wall, Hanji sighed. Slowly approaching it like she had done before during her inspection, this time around, she rested her palm against a particularly dense area of activity and inhaled deeply. "I can see the years of pain you've been forced to go through. This small section right here really highlights how bottled up you must have felt, hm? As most artists are, you've been conditioned to believe that you're not going to get anywhere in life by pursuing your beloved talents. You'll end up broke, you'll be living out of a soda can, and you won't have the means necessary to live a cushy, comfortable life."

Hanji's hands began to follow a smooth curve in the paint, a curve I hadn't noticed until she drew my attention to it. "This is all you've been hearing for the past, I don't know, five? Six? Seven years of your life? It's been drilled into your brain so much that you've started to accept it. I won't be an artist. I can't be an artist. I'll be a failure if I am an artist. Does this sound familiar to you? It should, because it's exactly what I'm reading right here."

I hadn't painted words; there were none. Hanji was reading the splotches. She was reading the lines, she was reading _between_ the lines. What Hanji was doing went even further than that, and it both amazed and terrified me.

She was reading directly from my heart.

Slamming her first against the central point of the painting, Hanji threw her hands back made a ghastly _Pew!_ sound to emphasize just how chaotic the disaster had gone from there. Outlining as many of the details as she could, she was gasping for air by the time she turned her attention back to me again.

I saw it immediately; there was no doubt about it. Hanji was different. Save for the obvious of how she'd managed to get orange paint all over her face, hands, and glasses, there was a comparable distinction between how she'd looked at me before she began analyzing the corner wall and how she looked at me now. "You've done it all on your own, Levi. You've freed yourself from your worst enemy, and the proof of that is right here." She paused for the sake of inquisition. "When was the last time you painted like this?" Years. "Did it feel good?" Very. "Do you want to do it again?" Yes. "You want to do it again, don't you?" Yes. Yes. She could have asked me a thousand times, and my answer wouldn't waver. I was already in too deep, and she made me realize that.

I wanted to paint again.

Not so surprisingly, the art professor wasn't too thrilled about my unannounced vandalism of his gallery, but on the same token, he wasn't entirely upset by it, either. Just like Hanji, he had been able to read through the smears and the smudges and see the struggles I had endured. It was because of that, plus a few added factors, that he encouraged me to pursue art as my major. I had a gift, he said. It would have been a waste not to use it.

Three days later, I handed in my withdrawal forms and took up six new courses, all of them focused solely on the creation of art and art history.

* * *

Standing up from the chair, I shook my head. I understood the point that Hanji was trying to make, about how my black-out style of painting was only invoked when I was undergoing excessively intense emotions, but why did she think that my paintings of Eren were equated with love? I could have been experiencing many different feelings when those canvases were created. I could have just as well been annoyed out of my mind when I'd shoved my hands into those jars of paint. I could have been filled with hatred or anger. What made her come to the conclusion that it was love?

"Levi, please don't get upset," Hanji pleaded. "It was just a question. You don't have to answer it."

Good, because I wasn't planning on it. Walking out from behind the front counter, I stretched my arms high above my head, cussing pleasurably when the kinks in my lower back gave way. I was not looking forward to the long morning we had ahead of us. If only there was something we could do to pass the time.

And that's when I had an idea.

"Hey, wanna work on some new sketches?"

At first, Hanji seemed surprised by my suggestion. It had been quite some time since we'd sketched together, and the last time we were working on new designs, we both ended up getting frustrated an quit. "I mean, only if you're up for it," she said.

I shrugged. "I wouldn't have said anything if I wasn't."

"True, very true. Well, let's break out our sketch books, then."

When I said that it'd been a while since Hanji and I had sketched, I hadn't been exaggerating. The sketch books that we kept in the back room were covered in dust, and our drawing pencils were nowhere to be found. Almost giving up before we'd even started, Hanji made the suggestion that we use pens instead of pencils. We had plenty of pens. We used them to mark down costumer information and schedule appointments. However, there was an issue with sketching with pens. Because of their permanency, they stripped you of your freedom to make mistakes. Every stroke and every curve had to be outlined to perfection. One wrong move and you were done.

We sat in the back room in silence, our pens scratching away at our papers. Hanji was the first to crumple up one of her drawings and start over, but I held strong. I was determined to make the perfect sketch on my first attempt. I strove to craft something beautiful without having to tear it apart and start all over again. I wanted perfection.

"How's your sketch coming along, Levi?" Hanji asked out of curiosity, after a few minutes of working on her new sketch. Peeking over my shoulder, her eyes immediately widened and she gasped.

I screwed up. Her reaction caused me to screw up. Not like it mattered, though. Hearing her sharp inhale made me realize just what the Hell I had been doing. "Damn it," I cursed. "Ugh, damn it, _damn it_."

"Levi, you...?"

Drawing my pen away from the sketch book, I jabbed the ball-point onto her nose and warned her not to say anything further than that. "Don't."

"But, Levi-"

I applied more pressure into the point of the pen. "I said _don't_."

Complaining about it hurting her, Hanji swatted my hands away and promised that she'd keep her big mouth shut. When I pulled the pen away, she punched my shoulder with one hand and rubbed her nose with the other. "That was really uncalled for, you know that? Now I'm going to have a mark on my nose for the rest of the day!"

"Good," I said. "It'll inform other people of just how _nosey_ you are."

Even though Hanji was still visibly angry, I could tell that she was struggling to keep a straight face after a comment like that. I mean, come on. Even she had to admit that it was a good comeback.

Crumpling up my piece of paper, I tossed it into the corner waste bin and sighed deeply. Maybe sketching wasn't the best way to pass the time after all. Sketching wasn't just for fun; there was a purpose to it. We were supposed to be creating new designs to showcase to our customers who were considering original tattoo ideas.

And I highly doubted that anyone would want an outline of Eren's eyes tattooed onto them.

Lo and behold, after five miraculous hours of waiting around in the back room with nothing other than the rusty smell of old coffee to keep us company, our first client of the day had finally arrived. She was a kindly young girl who was excited to get her very first tattoo: a freckled pattern of stars on the back of her neck.

While I worked on our client, Hanji sat in the chair beside her and chatted her up, in order to get her mind off of the pain. A tattoo like that one should have taken me around an hour or two to complete, but because the girl insisted on taking multiple breaks, I ended up working on her for around three hours. I didn't really mind it, though. She was a good customer and tending to her passed the time, as we continued to wait for the other two clients we had scheduled for that afternoon to show up.

After our second set of customers had made it and were tended to by myself and Hanji, the late afternoon hours were already giving way to the evening. It was hard to believe how a day that had been so centered about the virtue of patience was finally coming to a close. Turning off the window lights and locking the front door had never felt so good.

"Ahh, we made it," Hanji sighed peacefully. Cupping her hands behind her back and pulling them into a stretch, she continued to say, "I thought today would never end! Hopefully tomorrow is a bit more exciting-"

Stopping mid-sentence, both of our heads turned at the sound of the phone as it started to ring. Who would be calling us now? If they had our phone number, they must have also had our hours.

Normally when the phone rings after closing, Hanji and I don't pick it up. It's our way of saying, "You're too late. You should have called earlier." But that was only our motto if the person called once. We didn't have a motto for if the person called twice. I think you can tell where I'm going with this.

After the phone stopped ringing, there was only a moment's reprieve before it started right back up again. Its annoying, technological chirping was giving me a headache. "Answer it, Hanji," I said demandingly.

"Why do I have to answer it?" she whined. "What if it's one of those psycho maniacs that you hear about in the movies?"

"Just answer it."

She sighed and obediently gave in, but not without mumbling something along the lines of, "Why do I always have the be the one? Geez," to herself.

Hanji walked over to the front counter and looked at the phone's blank Caller ID before hesitantly picking it up. "Yes, hello? I'm sorry, but we're already...ah! Eren? Why are you-hey!"

Snatching the phone out of Hanji's hand, I quickly pressed the speaker to my ear. Of course it would have to be Eren. Why didn't I think of him in the first place? "Why are you calling my shop after closing hours?" I asked, in a stern tone. "Do you have no consideration at all?"

I could hear the arrogance in his faint laughter through the phone's speaker. It caused my teeth to grind.

"Actually," Eren began to say, "I have a lot of consideration. I'm calling to let you know that I'm outside. That's pretty considerate of me, don't you think?"

Looking to a very confused Hanji before looking in the direction of the front windows, I stalked my way up to the front door and casually peered out. Upon seeing me, Eren offered two, friendly beeps of his horn - both of which I heard over the phone and through the window - and a wave.

"Why the Hell are you here?" I asked. Hopefully my choice of stronger language would prompt him to give me a short answer. "If it's to schedule your next session, you could have just done that over the phone. Preferably during our working hours, thank you."

Every fiber of my being wanted to hang up on him, when I heard him start laughing again. Who did this kid think he was? Just because we had a nice night together last night, it didn't change the fact that I wasn't going to put up with his crappy attitude.

"That's partly why I'm here," Eren admitted, "but only partly. The real reason is because I have something that I want to show you."

Show me? Show me what? Did he get a new tattoo, or something? Shaking my head, knowing full well that he would be able to see me through the window, I asked, "Why can't you just tell me what it is? Why does everything have to be a guessing game or a bargain with you?"

It was difficult to make out in the darkness, but instead of actually seeing it, I could hear the sly smirk in Eren's voice, when he answered, "Because life's more fun that way."

With that, I hung up on him and threw the phone over at Hanji for her to catch. She missed. The phone hit her on the shoulder. Oops.

I couldn't even explain to her what was going on when she asked, because I had no idea myself. Eren wanted to show me something, and I had no idea what it was. When I figured it out, she would be the first to know.

Unlocking the front door and heading outside in a huff, I cussed at the drop in temperature. Autumn was definitely on its way. Rubbing my arms as I walked, with the ridges of my boots digging into the gravel, I hurried over to Eren's car where he ever-so-gentlemanly rolled down the window upon my arrival.

"Hi."

"Just show me whatever it is that you have to show me," I said, leaving no room for small talk.

Laying his wrist against the steering wheel, Eren shrugged and said, "I figured you'd be in a rush, so I won't beat around the bush." With his free hand, he reached for what appeared to be a small pouch of some sort. Seconds later, that pouch was in my hands and I was being instructed to open it.

"What is it?" I asked. I didn't like not knowing what was inside of sealed packages.

"I can't believe you're asking that. Just _open_ it," Eren urged. "The answer to your question is literally in your hands."

I sighed in exasperation. What I'd said over the phone hadn't been an exaggeration. Everything really was a game to him.

Eyeing the pouch, I tilted it to get a slightly better view of what I was dealing with. Whatever was inside couldn't have been all that large; the package itself was relatively thin. Without further delay, I stuck my thumb underneath the small flap that sealed the pouch shut and began to tear it. After the seal was completely broken, I pealed away the excess paper and took a peak inside. It was...a picture?

Cupping my hand, I squeezed the outer edges of the pouch and gave it a shake until the singular photograph bumped against my palm. There were no words to accurately describe my confusion, so with a dumbfounded expression, I grabbed the picture and held it up for Eren to see. "Do you mind explaining why you needed to show me this?" I asked him.

Avoiding my question - or at least ignoring it for now - Eren drummed his fingers against the smooth leather of his steering wheel and proceeded to ask, "Do you know what that building is? The building in the photograph, I mean."

I gave the image a quick glance and shrugged. If there was a point to all of this, Eren wasn't making himself very clear. "It's the old library building that closed down about five years ago. You still didn't answer my question, though," I pressed. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Hmm," Eren hummed, as his eyes wandered up to the inner roof of his car. "Let's call it your payment. Your payment...and your homework. Since you don't want me to pay you in cash, I'm paying you with pictures."

"Okay?" I was following what he was saying for the most part, but he obviously still wasn't making any sense. "Then, where does the 'homework' part come in?"

"I'm glad you asked," Eren said, sporting a stupid smile. "That's kind of the catch of this whole thing. You see, that picture that you're holding, you don't get to keep it. You have to give it back to me. Hold on a second, though, I'm getting ahead of myself; that's the _second _part of your homework. The _first_ part is something that I know you won't object to."

Huh. In saying that, Eren certainly seemed sure of himself. How did he know I wouldn't object? We hardly knew each other.

But then I realized that that wasn't true. It was disturbing enough to gradually become more and more aware of it, but Eren and I already knew more about one another than my stubborn brain would like to admit.

Resting my arm against his car's half-opened window, I stared Eren down as I waited for him to honor me with a response. "Well?" I asked, coaxing him back into the conversation. "Aren't you going to tell me what it is? I would never accept a homework assignment, unless I understood all of its instructions in full and excruciating detail."

I could see it in his grossly gorgeous eyes. Eren was more than delighted that I'd taken to his little game, and started to play along myself. That's what he wanted, right? To have me wrapped around his finger, and tied into a pretty little bow? Yeah. As if.

"Fair enough," he sighed, letting his hand drop from the steering wheel. "Then you may be disappointed to hear that there's only one detail that I can offer you."

I quirked an eyebrow at him. "Oh, yeah? And what's that?"

Emitting an essence of challenge as he purposefully narrowed his gaze, he finally gave an answer. "I want you to paint it."

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_Word count-wise, this chapter was a bit shorter than last week's chapter. But content-wise, I feel like this chapter was a bit more interesting! We got a deeper look into Hanji and Levi's past, and the plot is slowly starting to progress! Hopefully you'll all enjoy where it's heading. (:_

_As always, thank you for taking the time to read! I greatly appreciate it! And on a side note, thank you for all of the kind reviews and comments you've been leaving thus far! Hearing feedback from you guys definitely gives me the motivation to keep posting these chapters each week. So, again, thank you very much! (:_

_- Chappy_


	10. Pink

"You want me to...what?"

Of all the stupid things Eren could have said, he managed to pick the stupidest one. He'd just handed me a picture of the old library building, told me that it was a homework assignment, explicitly stated that he wanted the photograph returned to him, and that he wanted me to paint it. By all means, I wasn't following his logic - probably because he didn't have any.

"I want you to paint it," Eren repeated, leaning back in his driver's seat. "You know, like, with a brush?"

A paintbrush? Really? He obviously knew nothing about my art style. "I don't use paintbrushes."

Having enough gall to mumble something about making this more difficult than it had to be, Eren held his hand up in a dismissive gesture and sighed. "Fine. If you don't use paintbrushes, use your fingers." He paused, and his sunlit eyes met mine. "Look, I really don't care how you paint this thing, I just want you to paint it and give it back to me, alright? That's all you have to do."

"I have a question." I still had many, actually, but seeing as we were scrapped for time, I figured I'd only ask the most important.

"Go ahead," Eren prompted. "Shoot."

Showing him the picture for a second time, I waved it around like some sort of victory flag and wondered, "Why are you telling me to do this exactly? What's the whole purpose of this ridiculous 'homework' assignment?"

There it was again. That awful smile that was practically begging to be ripped off of his pretty, little face, he was wearing it specifically for me because of what I'd asked him. "You haven't realized it by now?" he questioned, continuing to smile. "I'm surprised. I mean, this assignment is probably the closest you'll ever be to achieving your dream, isn't that right?"

"What?" I was more confused now than I had been before.

Grabbing for his seatbelt and fastening it with a click, Eren shook his head. He wasn't going to answer me, I could tell. "Just take it home and think about it, if you have to. It's not rocket science. Paint the picture. You can cover it in polka dots and rainbows for all I care. Just _paint _it." Forcing an end to our conversation, Eren pulled his car into reverse and left things off by saying, "This will make more sense to you soon enough, okay? I'll see you in four weeks."

Four weeks. For the longest time (it had only been a day), I had been mentally badgering myself about getting into contact with Eren in some way or another to set up his next appointment. Having him give me a timeline made my life just that much easier. Now I could mentally prepare myself for the next time I'd be seeing his smug face around my shop. I could also estimate the number of canvases I would need to purchase for the course of the month, because who was I fooling? As much as I hated to admit it, I'd probably paint a ton of Eren-esque creations in the span of four weeks.

After Eren pulled out of the lot and drove off, I headed back into the shop with the photograph in hand. I had only been inside for a second, but it wasn't surprising that Hanji was already bombarding me with questions.

"What happened?" she started off, like an overactive puppy. "Did you guys talk about last night? Did you talk about his next appointment? Did you two kiss again? I bet you kissed again, didn't you? You wouldn't have been out there for so long if you were only scheduling a decent time for his next session, right? Hey, wait a minute. What is that thing you're holding? Is it a picture? Ooh, did Eren take it? Let me see, let me see!"

Without hesitation, I handed the photograph of the old library building over to Hanji and began massaging my forehead. For the love of God, she talks way too much sometimes. I'd needed an aspirin after that mess of questions.

Hanji began to inspect the picture with quizzical eyes. Looking at it from all angles, she flipped it over, brought it closer to her face, and then held it a full arm's length. Thankfully, she was just as confused as I was. "I don't get it," she said, turning her head toward me. "Why did Eren give you this picture? Does this building have some sort of meaning to the both of you?"

I shrugged and stuffed my hands into my back pockets. "The Hell if I know. It might hold a special place in his heart, but to me, that building is just a really rundown eyesore."

"Then why-?"

"He gave it to me as a homework assignment," I interrupted. "His words, not mine. He said I had to paint it and then give it back to him, whatever that's supposed to mean."

"Huh..." Drawing her attention back over to the photograph, Hanji began to analyze it further, like it was some piece of fine art. Granted, Eren had been able to make a crappy old building look not _as _crappy with his use of filters and focus, but was it really worth viewing so closely. "Levi," Hanji suddenly said, "did Eren say anything else to you tonight? You know, anything else about _why_ he wants you to paint this picture? He couldn't have just told you to paint it and then drive off without giving you any kind of explanation, right?"

Hanji was right about that, yes, but Eren's explanation hadn't exactly been the most comprehendible. Shrugging my shoulders a second time, I said, "He said something about it being the closest I'll ever be to achieving my dream, whatever that's supposed to mean."

For the flickering of a second, Hanji's eyes had widened. As her vision mellowed out, she seemed quite satisfied with my answer. "Heh, what a creative little bastard," she muttered. Was she understanding something that I wasn't? Was there an underlying message that I just wasn't seeing? Probably, but I was too tired to figure something like that out tonight, and it wasn't like I had to, either.

I had a whole four weeks ahead of me to try and decode Eren's peculiar assignment.

Hanji handed the picture back over to me. She was wearing a stupid grin that reminded me of Eren. I told her to knock it off.

"Aww, don't be such a sour puss, Levi," she giggled. "You're smart! I'm sure you'll figure out what Eren's little plan is soon enough." Tch, that's what he said.

Accepting the photograph, I eyed her skeptically. "You've already figured it out, haven't you?"

She continued to giggle. "Maybe. Maybe not." Walking toward the front door, Hanji flipped off the lights and grabbed the main entry keys on her way out. Before taking her leave, however, she turned back to me and said, "Let's just say that I have an _idea _of what Eren is trying to do, and it's really cute."

If Hanji's "idea" was cute, then it had to be wrong. There was no way in Hell that annoying kid would plan out something cute. It just wasn't in his nature. In fact, he was probably doing the exact opposite. Maybe he was trying to mess with me in some way. I hate to say it, but it was kind of working.

I followed Hanji out of the shop without a word, and after the front door was locked up tight, we headed over to where our cars were parked. She mentioned something about being hungry and wanting to grab dinner, but I passed on her offer. There was too much on my mind to focus on a relaxing outing, and that was never a good thing. Not in my case, at least.

She made up her mind and said that she'd just get something from McDonald's, and after wishing her well on her half-a-day's serving of calories, we got into our separate cars and parted ways. Well, somewhat. I had to wait for her to pull out of her parking spot first.

On the ride home, I decided to suffocate the silence by stuffing it with some radio music. The songs the stations played at the 8 o' clock hour were always so mellow - just what I needed to calm myself down. Every red light was like a stab to my subconscious. At every opportunity, my eyes would wander and they would lock sights with the photograph of the old library building. I'd set it down on the passenger's seat which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the best idea. If I didn't want it to become a distraction, I should have tossed it in the back, shoved it into the glove compartment, or at least flipped it over so that the image was out of view. But no. That wasn't how my mind worked when it was too busy being occupied by confusing thoughts.

What was Eren planning? Why was he doing this to me? Why was he doing this _for_ me? What were his ulterior motives? Did he even _have _ulterior motives?And what did he mean by, "this is the closest you'll ever be to achieving your dream"?

I needed answers.

By the time I finally pulled into lot of my apartment's complex, my skin was already crawling with tingles and twitches. It was a good thing Eren's "homework" assignment had been to paint, because I really needed to. At least, I thought I did. The second I stepped into my apartment, broke out my jars of paint, and got ready to start coating the photograph with color, the impulse was gone. The tingles and twitches weren't there anymore. All previous desire had vanished.

"What the Hell?" I was talking to myself, while looking at the photograph. "What the Hell just happened?"

I honestly couldn't remember a single time where my need to paint had suddenly just..._disappeared _like this. I must have been sick. I could have been hungry. Nah, I was probably sick.

Setting the photograph onto one of the easels that I used to prop up my canvases, I stared at the stupid thing like it was about to sprout wings and fly away. Tucking my feet behind my backside, I figured that maybe if I looked at the picture for good, long while, inspiration would strike and I'd be able to paint it.

Nope. It didn't work.

I ended up just looking at photo of an old building for an hour without moving a muscle. I needed a new tactic.

I didn't actually _paint _the photograph, but I tried painting the image of it onto my last blank canvas to see if that would spark something inside of me. Tracing my fingers along the smooth surface, digging my nails into the cloth when necessary, I worked on structuring the edges, the exteriors, and even the rotting vines that engulfed the majority of the building, but still no dice.

I gave up and made myself a bowl of soup.

Because of my sporadic eating and artistry habits, most of the cooking and silverware that I owned showed remnants of my past creations on them. The ladle that I used to stir the broth and the noodles together was spotted with a mixture of orange and red at the handle, a nostalgic sight to see. I'd been painting one of my very first sunsets when that ladle got dirtied. What can I say? It was a below-zero night in the dead of winter, I was obviously missing the summer sun, and I wanted some soup. Plain and simple. It was a shame that the frustrations of tonight's "painting" - if you could even call it that - would also remain as a memory on that soup ladle in a blotchy pattern of grey and green.

Even the plates and bowls that I kept in the cupboards had little speckles of dried paint here and there. As much of a "neat freak" as I've been coined to be, the spots don't bother me. They remind me of the things that time may have forced me to forget. Hanji minds them, though. If, by chance, I just so happen to invite her over to my place and if, by second chance, she just so happens to be hungry and wants something to eat, she'd always make an off-hand comment about how I needed a new kitchen set entirely, or else I was going to die an early death from lead poisoning.

Meh. Whatever.

Spooning a cupful of soup into one of the bowls, I sat at the counter and began to think...and maybe that was my problem. Maybe I was putting too much thought into this whole thing. Instead of thinking about the photograph and how I'd go about painting it, maybe I just needed to let myself _do _it.

If I was going to paint the old library building, what would I do? How would I paint it? Don't think, just do.

Well, I'd start by painting the main doorway yellow - a definite upgrade from the current shade of basic brown. From there, I'd paint the windows blue and the bricks on the outer wall black - maybe I'd even add a little bit of red just for the heck of it. After that, I would gloss the roof in gold and coat the cobblestones in green. Lastly, when all of that was finished, I would streak the skies in purple and dot the clouds with orange...wait. What?

Unbeknownst my knowledge, I'd somehow migrated from the kitchen back over to the painting easel. Standing there with the rainbow dripping from my fingertips, I stared in awe at the photograph. What used to be a plain image of the old, abandoned library building was _still_ an image of the old, abandoned library building, but one that was full of life and imagination.

And then it occurred to me. This is what I wanted. This is what I've _always_ wanted. This very photograph was an 8x10 representation of what I dreamed my world would look like, what my _town_ would look like if I had the power to enforce it, and that's when it finally clicked. This was the "dream" that Eren had been talking about, and this was the closest I would ever come to achieving it.

Because of Eren, I had just painted a part of the town.

* * *

The summer came to an abrupt halt and autumn quickly claimed her thrown. Just yesterday, it felt like I'd been able to step out of my apartment in nothing more than a tee shirt and some jeans, but now a light sweater was some kind of necessity. I hated the colder months. They were filled with lower temperatures, and lower temperatures meant sleeves - and sleeves meant covering up my ink.

I wasn't someone who was overly attached to their tattoos and needed to see them every waking moment of the day; no, that wasn't it. It was more of a guilty feeling. It felt like I was censoring art - and to some extent, myself - for the sake of the weather. Ugh. Stupid sweater weather.

Surprisingly, four weeks had managed to fly by, even with their extra long mornings and drawn out nights. Not only was it the Tuesday after the clocks fell back, but in the blink of an eye, it was already the afternoon. More specifically, it was the afternoon of Eren's second tattoo removal session.

And for a second time, Hanji would not be accompanying me on such a grand adventure. She called in sick the night before, saying that she might have caught the flu or something of that nature, and needed to rest. Permission granted, because my exact words to her were to "keep her sickness to herself" and to "stay the Hell away from my shop."

Maybe it was better this way. Things were calm and collected without her presence, and Eren seemed to open up more - if that was even possible - when she wasn't around. And besides, he and I had a lot to talk about, stuff that she probably wouldn't want to listen to anyway (or maybe she would. Who knows).

But most importantly, he and I needed to talk about the photograph.

I'd only tended to one customer that day, so basically, my hours were consumed by intently staring at the painted picture, just waiting for Eren to show up. Heh, that's something I never thought I'd admit to. When did this annoying brat become someone who was worth my time waiting for? Beats me.

Tapping a pen against the front counter to the rhythm of my boredom, I periodically glanced at the clock to see what time it was. 3:46. 3:59. 4:13. 4:25. 4:26. 4:27. 4:28...

At exactly 4:30 on the dot, I heard tires roll against the gravel, a sound that was shortly followed by a car door slamming and the front door of my shop opening wide. And there he was. In all of his faded and pastel glory, my long-awaited customer had finally arrived. "Hey, stranger," Eren greeted smugly. No surprise there. "Long time no see, huh?"

"Really?" I sighed, standing up from the front counter. "It feels as if it was just yesterday when you were being your annoying self, all cryptic about that photograph and whatnot."

At the mention of the photo, Eren's amber eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh! Do you have it with you? Did you remember to paint it?"

Nodding, I stepped out from behind the front counter and extended my arm for him to follow. "Yeah, I did. But before we get into that, let's get started on your session first. You're not going to fall asleep on me again, are you?"

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans, Eren chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "I wasn't planning on it, but I'm not making any promises. I had to be up by 6AM to prepare for my midterms, and this was after going to bed at 1AM, so I'm pretty much running on Red Bull and pure determination."

"Fair enough. Have a seat."

While Eren got himself comfortable by leaning back and unbuttoning his pants, I pulled out my equipment cart, along with all of the extra accessories I'd need for sanitation purposes (e.g. gloves, anti-bacterial wipes, etc.). My shop wasn't renowned for being the cleanest tattoo shop around town for no reason. It's because it actually _was_ the cleanest shop around town.

By the time I made it back over to where Eren sat and had a seat myself, he was already ready to strike up a conversation with me. "So," he began slowly, "how have you been? Did you miss me?"

Grabbing the laser removal gun, I gave it a threatening click, to which he shut up immediately. It was actually pretty hilarious to watch him cower at the sound of the electrical pop, so like a disobedient dog who had learned their lesson, I granted him the pleasure of my response. "It's been quiet. A good kind of quiet. The kind of quiet that you like to disrupt."

I heard him snicker, while he pulled up his sweater for me. He'd been all smiles and giggles until that Godawful tattoo of his came into view. That's when the laughter stopped and his face grew cold. "Let's, uh," he faltered. "Let's just get started, alright? We can talk more after."

"Fine by me."

I almost preferred silence over conversation, when in the midst of working on someone. Along with the hum of the tattoo gun, the added sound of someone's voice was distracting to my focus. If Eren didn't want me to slip up and start burning him in unnecessary places, then not speaking was probably a good thing.

And just like that, the session began.

Zapping the areas of dense ink first, I could feel Eren's lower abdomen beginning to twitch beneath my fingers. If he was in pain, his stoic expression showed no signs of it. That expression, however, it gradually began to fade before it was no longer present. All that was left was a subtle sense of consciousness before Eren was out like a light.

I hadn't the slightest idea why his appointments with me were as relaxing as he made them seem. If I were in his shoes, I would have been wide awake and watching my artist's every move. But Eren was obviously different. Because of his vulnerability, it showed me something I didn't see in most of my clients.

It showed me that he _trusted _me.

Without trust, Eren wouldn't have been falling asleep ten minutes into his sessions like he seemed to have a bad habit of doing. Instead, he would be awake, alert, and aware of every little jolt, and every single bolt, that my tattoo gun made against his abdomen. It amazed me, yes, but it was also a bit disconcerting. If this was only a small showcase of Eren's levels of trust in people, then his relationship with his ex-boyfriend must have been a prime example.

"Mmn..." Eren made a gentle sound, when I reached to pull his boxer shorts down further. Because of his sleepy grip, they kept riding up to his hips like before, only this time, I actually got a response out of him because of it. Oops.

Not letting that slightly erotic noise sway my focus, I grabbed a damp cloth and started wiping at the beads of blood that began peaking through Eren's damaged skin. Just when I thought I was out of the woods, Eren inhaled suddenly and sharply, definitely catching me off of my guard. Luckily, my reflexes were just as good as my lack of them, and I'd been able to catch the cloth before it fell onto the floor. But seriously, what had gotten into him? Eren had been so quiet and still during his first session. What changed?

Oh, wait. I think I knew. It was because _we _changed.

Four weeks had given us enough time apart, and whether we liked it or not, we must have done a lot of thinking about each other. Whether Eren's thoughts were innocent or risque, the subtle pink that his cheeks wore when I touched him in lower areas proved to me that it had to have been a little bit of both. As for me, no matter how hard I tried or how many paintings my fingers itched to paint, I couldn't get that damn kiss out of my head. I mean, _damn_. I could still taste the mint on my lips if I really thought hard enough.

And then I remembered that that kiss wasn't entirely random. It was a hint, a hint as to what _Eren's_ dream was. But what kind of hint was that? Did he want to kiss every person in the world before he died? If that was the case, did that mean that Hanji was next? No, that couldn't be it. Eren was openly gay. There was no way he would kiss Hanji, right? Or would he? Damn it, why was I getting jealous over this?

I was grateful when I'd finished the last stroke of shocks to that dumb horse head and began wiping away the last bits of Eren's blood. My focus had been shot from the moment I let my mind wander off, and it was my own damn fault for _letting it _wander. Enough was enough. Eren had to go.

"Hey," I said, trying to grab his attention by shaking his arm. "Hey, Eren. You have to wake up. I'm not going to be waiting around for you for three hours like I was last time. Now _wake up_."

Nothing. This was ridiculous.

Yelling, shaking, and smacking him across his arms had zero effect on Eren regaining his consciousness, which really sucked because it left me with nothing. No new options to experiment with. Nothing. Unless...

...I was going to hate myself for this.

Setting the laser gun aside and scooting closer to the edge of Eren's chair, I propped myself up slightly by resting my hands on either side of him and began to lean over his sleeping body like the 1938 rendition of a fairytale. Oh, yeah. I was _really_ going to hate myself for this.

Going in for the kill, I closed my eyes and let my instincts take over. If I missed, oh, well. I would just roll with the punches. But to my surprise, I didn't miss. In fact, I was met halfway by another pair of questionably eager lips, lips that refused to pull away even after the message was more than clear.

Eren was awake. How long had he been awake? I really couldn't say.

Playing off our kiss with an almost embarrassed chuckle - something I'd never thought I'd hear out of him - Eren said, "I'm not a princess, you know. You didn't have to do that."

Oh, but I did. He wouldn't have woken up, otherwise. Kissing that kid was my last resort, and he probably knew that and just didn't want to admit it.

Recomposing myself, I sat back in my chair and scoffed. "If you're not a princess, than I'm not a prince. Let's just pretend that none of this even happened, alright? Now, come on. I'll give you the photograph so that you can go."

When I moved to stand up from the chair, I felt a hand dart out in an attempt to grab my arm, followed by the fragile command to wait. Turning over my shoulder, there was Eren with his pants still hanging loosely around his hips. He had a somewhat unreadable expression on his face. "What is it?" I wondered.

That's when there was no context, just feeling.

I felt Eren's hand slide up my arm, as he rose into a stand as well. I felt his hand curl around my shoulder, while his head began to dip lower. I felt his breath against my neck, before I felt it hot and heavy against my lips.

And then I felt him.

I felt my own hands reaching out to grab a hold of his sides, while my eyes slipped shut with the sensations. I felt my sense of reasoning shoot up into the clouds, as my body continued to move on impulse. And then I felt the guilt, like what we were doing was some sort of taboo, like this kiss was the end all to our "normal" relationship and the start of something more complex. Oh, who was I kidding? We were already complex.

However, if there was only one thing that I was certain of, it was that a kiss like this had to have been something much more than just another hint.

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_Can you believe that we're already on chapter 10? I honestly can't. I started this fanfic in the middle of the summer, and here we are, starting October next week already! And we finally have an established season! I'm pretty sure I've been avoiding what time of year it was in this story, but now you know that it's autumn! __Ah, but that wasn't the most important part of this chapter, huh? ;D_

_I really enjoyed plotting out this chapter and writing for it, so I hope that you as the reader enjoyed it, as well! Feel free to let me know what your favourite part was!_

_And of course, as always, thank you for taking the time to read! I truly appreciate it! (:_

_- Chappy_


	11. Silver

I'd always despised television soap operas for their impromptu make out scenes. One second, the two characters would be having a grand old time, be it at a public restaurant or in the sanctity of their own home, then the next, they're rushing at each other like it's the last five seconds on Earth, ripping at their clothing and gnawing each other's faces off. To the humble viewers, a scenario like this is supposed to be considered something that's totally normal. But it's not. It's not normal at all. Could you imagine how weird it would be if you were eating in a restaurant and the couple seated next to you started sucking face? That would be disgusting.

Point of the matter is, I was afraid that I was becoming one of those ridiculous characters from a soap opera.

I didn't even know why we were kissing each other, to be honest. We just kind of _were_. Also, Eren may have been the initiator of our current state, but I had been the one who instigated this whole damn mess.

Was it shameful of me to be glad that I did?

Eren's hand gradually moved from my shoulder to the back of my neck, and up into the shaved hairs of my undercut. I heard him all but purr at the change of texture, before slightly tilting his head and adding a greater sense of pressure between our lips.

While my mind was still so frazzled with corrupted confusion, I did my best to try and pull myself back together again, not even really knowing that Eren's lips had caused me to fall apart.

I could feel his other hand starting to explore my torso, drifting down to my midriff and sweeping over my abdomen. God, that felt nice. For someone whose lips were so strong, his touches were surprisingly gentle. Was he afraid that I would crumble beneath his fingers? That I couldn't handle him being a little rough with me? Tch. Ridiculous. Looks like I'd have to remind him of who he was dealing with.

Using my hands on his hips as leverage, I shoved Eren - and that is not an overstatement - back against the tattoo chair. The force behind my push had been so powerful that it nearly caused him to stumble over his own two feet - my bad. The stool I'd been seated in while working on his tattoo had toppled onto its side, and while we were both so focused on the sound of the hard crash, I couldn't help being drawn to the specific sound that Eren had made in response to my push.

He'd gasped.

It was normal to gasp in reaction to something that startles you, of course; oh, but Eren's gasp was different. Even though it had been horribly muffled by the weight of our lips, I'd still been able to detect the erotic undertones laced within his vocal chords. Damn it, this was getting dangerous.

But we didn't stop.

If Eren had said no, or had shown any signs, even if it was just the slightest indication that he just wasn't feeling the kiss anymore, I would have pulled back immediately. I wasn't about that kind of behavior. But he didn't show any signs, and neither did I. In fact, in that moment, we couldn't have been more into each other. To anyone who had been passing by on the street, if they had just so happened to sneak a quick peak though the shop window, they probably would have assumed that Eren and I were lovers, based on the way we were so tactile and immersed in one another...not just two guys who suddenly decided to kiss each other because...? I'd had a good share of kisses in my life, but never had I been kissed as spontaneously as with Eren.

I felt Eren's hands leave my head and my torso as he moved to prop himself up onto the tattoo chair. The swift motion had caused our kiss to break for a half-second, just long enough for the both of us to swallow some air. I'd made the "mistake" of doing so with my mouth, to which Eren had seen an opportunity, and he whole-heartedly took advantage of my error.

Feeling Eren's tongue ring against my lips had been one thing, but feeling it as it slid against the insides of my mouth and clacked against my teeth was a completely different experience. To be honest, I didn't even know if I liked it or not. What I _did_ like was the small hitch in Eren's breath as he reacted to my palms being pressed against his legs. To test him even further, I gave his thighs a tight squeeze. Well, that did the trick. Eren's composure began to melt like jelly, and as I was just about to bask in my sweet sense of satisfaction, a disgusting thought came to mind.

What would Eren do if I grabbed a hold of his hip?

It would be wrong, obviously; he'd just undergone a removal session and the area of treatment was going to be swollen and sore for a few days, but what would he have done? Would he recoil against my hand? Or would he welcome my touch? Damn it, now I wanted to know. I'd already been able to hear the lovely little sound Eren had made when I'd used his hips to push him back, but it wasn't the same. If anything, that "erotic" gasp could have been a gasp out of shock or pain. Whatever. I'd just have to find a new spot to claim...what? Why would a thought like that even cross my mind? Oh, screw it. Just screw all of it. I was done with this self-righteous crap. Who was I even fooling anymore? I was into Eren. There, I said it. I was honestly fascinated by him - smitten, if you will - and I wanted to find a certain spot on his body that was all my own to claim.

So like a Godawful vampire, I went for his neck for some reason.

Personally, I didn't even _like _neck biting. To me, it felt like the person who was biting me was trying to cut off my pulse. On the opposing end, when I was the one doing the biting, it felt like there was nearly never enough skin to even latch onto. I gave kudos to those who could make neck biting look sexy, because it's freaking hard as Hell.

Luckily, Eren seemed to be all for it. I could feel his neck arching almost the second after I'd torn away from our kiss and began nipping at rose petals. That's right. Rose petals. Eren had a neck tattoo, and that gorgeous gloss of ink was a pastel arrangement of lots of different roses - both living and dying. The petals that fell from the dying roses cascaded lifelessly to the edge of Eren's clavicle, where the shading of the colors became so delicate that it was almost transparent. It made me wonder what the story behind that tattoo could have been, but Hell, I still didn't even know what "Freiheit" meant. Seriously, these were things I was going to have to ask him after I was finished eating his flowers.

"That feels nice," Eren sighed, as he draped a lazy arm over my shoulder. Those were the first words I'd heard out of him since this crazy kissing game had started. It was a bit startling to hear his voice, along the vibrations that came with it. I could actually _feel_ his words against my teeth and my lips, as he continued to say, "You can bite all you want over there, but don't leave a hickey, okay?"

"Why not?" I wasn't offended by that; I mean, it made sense. Leaving a hickey on a tattooed area of skin was kind of trashy, not to mention it degraded a work of art with a horny staple of claim. Those were my reasons at least, but I wanted to hear Eren's. As someone who clearly wasn't as passionate about respecting artwork, I was almost positive that he was going to come up with an answer that was completely different from mine.

"If you want to give me a hickey, I want you to mark it on an area where my skin is clean; not on the tattoo that I got in remembrance of my mother."

And that just made things a whole lot of awkward.

Even though he'd said it was okay to, I stopped biting Eren's neck and drew away from him entirely (save for my hands, which were still firmly clasped around his kneecaps). Did he mean to tell me that for the past minute or so, I had been gnawing at the petals of a rose tattoo that was supposed to be symbolic of his mother? Hate to break it to ya, kid, but that really just killed the mood.

"Why didn't you tell me to stop sooner, then?" I asked, a bit peeved that he chose to bring something like this up _after_ the fact that I'd already been actively chewing on remembrance roses.

"Because it felt good?" That wasn't the answer I'd been looking for, nor was it the answer that I'd wanted to hear. Flattering? Yes. Disturbing? Also yes. "I like having my neck bitten, just not too hard on that one side. The other side is a total free-for-all, though. You know, for future reference." For future reference? Man, this kid couldn't get cockier even if he tried.

My hands gradually slid off of his knees, and with a roll of my eyes, I bent over and picked up the fallen stool chair. I propped it onto its legs and sat down with a sigh. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe it was better for Eren and I to stop before we did something that we'd regret. I tried feeding myself those delicious lies, but I found it hard to swallow when the image of his tongue ring clicking against my teeth was all I could see. I was going to choke.

"What happened to your mother?" I asked, after clearing my throat. We'd talk about what just happened in a little bit, but for now, I was genuinely interested in his tattoo. Go figure, right?

It was Eren's turn to clear his throat, and as he did so, he dragged his arm off of my shoulder and tried to nonchalantly pull up his pants. But there was nothing "nonchalant" about it. No, not in the way that he began to tease the zipper, or in the way that the material of his jeans rustled against the metal buttons. Once Eren was all set, he started recounting the events of a story that he must have told quite a few times to the people who asked. I wondered if I'd get the long version or the short version. In situations like this, there was always varying lengths of detail for the same exact scenario.

"She died when I was nine-years-old." From my experience, when people started off by saying, "so-and-so died," they were usually planning on giving you the short version. But I should have known better. This was Eren, after all. He was a kid who loved to hear himself talk, and if our conversation about his ex-boyfriend was any indication of how long we were going to speak for, it only made sense to make myself comfortable.

"I see." I didn't dare say, "I'm sorry." I absolutely hated it when people said they were sorry for things like this. It's like, what are you apologizing for? It's not your fault. Unless you had a hand in my misfortunes, then don't say you're sorry for them.

When I was just about to ask how she'd died, Eren continued explaining on his own. "She used to work as a florist in a small shop that was so close to our house, she could actually walk to work every morning. She really loved that job. She told me that it had always been her dream to work with flowers, even though she'd gone to college and majored in nursing. She didn't regret that choice, though, because that's actually how she ended up meeting my dad. They were both studying majors in the medical field, so they had a lot of classes together. However, about two weeks into her nursing career, my mom decided it wasn't the right place for her and she started chasing after her dream.

It took her a while to find a floral business that was hiring, but amazingly enough, the manager of the shop located just down the street ended up retiring. One of the employees that worked there was given a promotion, but that didn't solve their shortened staff problem, so they started looking for applicants to hire. My mom was one of the first to apply, but she was the only one who actually got hired."

Eren's head tilted back, as he began to look at the ceiling wistfully. He had the same look in his honeydrop eyes, when I told him about my life-long dream, so I could only imagine that he must have felt the same sense of wonder towards his mother's.

"She worked at that flower shop for a whole twelve years and only missed one day of work. Can you guess why?" I shook my head, and Eren pointed to himself. "It was because of me. I was born. Until the day she died, my mother never let me forget how I couldn't have waited just one more day to come out of her. She had a line of days ahead of herself where the shop was going to be closed for spring break, but nope. Not happening."

Eren went into further detail about how his mother's water had broken in the middle of the flower shop. He explained how his father had to drive all the way from the hospital where he worked, drive to the flower shop, pick up his wife, and then drive all the way back to the hospital again. Lots of fun when you're in intensive labor.

"Mom loved work so much that she went right back to it after the shop's spring break was over. My dad ended up being the one who had to take a paternity leave from the hospital for a while, before he was ultimately switched over to the night shift. Anyway, I'm getting totally off topic here, aren't I? You asked me how she died, and here I am, giving you the whole story behind her career."

I shook my head and urged him to continue. I didn't mind all of the exposition; in fact, I almost preferred it. It was nice to know some background behind the person who died, otherwise, Eren's story wouldn't have held as much of an impact. By having him give me all of this information about his mother, it was almost as if I was viewing the story as an outsider, while at the same time, borrowing his emotions and his eyes.

After dropping his gaze from the ceiling, Eren scratched the back of his neck and let out a weighted sigh. Said sigh was ironically followed by a nervous laugh. "This next part is always the hardest to tell," he murmured, his hands fidgeting with the hairs on his neck.

"Take your time," I said. This wasn't like last time where I felt bound by the clock. We had more time to spare than we were probably willing to.

"Alright, alright," Eren breathed. First through his nose, then out through his mouth. "Okay, flash forward about nine years. By the time my dad was getting ready to drive me to school, my mom had already walked off to work. Everything seemed fine. Everything was totally normal. It was April 11th, just a regular weekday like any other."

There is never such a thing as a "regular weekday" when the date is given specifically.

"My dad and I had just walked out the front door, when we heard the telephone ring. I remember him saying something like, 'If it's important, they'll call me on my cell phone,' before ushering me into the car. Sure enough, about three minutes later, his cell phone began to ring.

There was a freak accident at the flower shop. My mom had been crushed by one of the refrigerators that they keep to preserve bouquets and crap like that. They'd just gotten a new installment of them last week, but the company that set them up forgot to secure that one refrigerator by not bolting it to the wall. When my mom closed the door to the fridge just a bit too hard, it toppled over and and the weight of it killed her instantly."

After that, things got pretty quiet. It was a little while - I didn't keep track of how long specifically - before Eren began to shake his head. He muttered something along the lines of, "I never got to tell her sorry," to which I encouraged him to elaborate.

"Well, the night before she died, we got into a heated argument about how I got called to the principal's office for punching someone at school. In my defense, they were making fun of my best friend, but because the kid ended up getting a bloody nose because of my fist, suddenly I was the one at fault."

With an arched brow, I asked, "And this happened when you were nine?"

"Yeah, but that's beside the point. Anyway, she threatened to take away the polaroid camera that I'd just got for my birthday if I kept misbehaving in school, so I ran up to my bedroom and didn't come back down for the rest of the night. I didn't even get to see her on the morning she died. It's crazy, now that I think about it. One day, she was there, and the next, she just...wasn't anymore."

I was grateful to have been given the long version of Eren's story. His mother sounded like a passionate lady. As a woman who seemed fully devoted for the sake of her dream, she would have been proud to know that her son wore her memory around his neck for the rest of his life. Sadly enough, it was a fragment of that very same dream of working with flowers that ended up killing her. Such a shame.

"I'm sure she forgives you," I said, not really understanding why I felt the need to console him. He must have heard those words thousands of times; would hearing them once more really make a difference? "I mean, you're a stupid kid who says and does a lot of stupid things. And from what you've just told me, it doesn't sound like you're all that different now from how you were when you were nine." Eren tried to intervene at that comment, but I kept talking. "Look, all I'm saying is that I'm sure she forgives you. I mean, how old are you now?"

"Twenty. I'm going to be twenty-one in March."

"Exactly. I highly doubt your late mother is going to hold something against you from, what? Eleven years ago? Give me a break." Rising into a stand, I stretched out my lower back in an attempt to ease my aching muscles. I really needed to work on my posture.

Eren nodded, but he also shrugged. "I mean, I already know that. It's just, she deserved to hear the words, and I never got the chance to say them to her. Not before it was already too late."

"That's life, kid." I stuck a hand against my hip, as I replayed those words in my head. Wait a minute. That didn't sound right. "Well, life _and _death. They'll always be full of choices that need to be made and consequences that will inevitably follow. As humans, it's our job to make the choice, but on the same token, it's also our job to accept the consequences of our actions. You made the choice to get a tattoo of your ex-boyfriend's name on your hip, and that was also a consequence that you've had to deal with for quite a while."

"Yeah, but I'm getting that consequence fixed now," Eren pointed out.

"You're right. Bad example." Sticking to his mother's story, I used a different approach to get to my point. "Okay, so, you were so angry that you made the choice to run upstairs to your room and not come down for the rest of the evening, correct?" He nodded. "And the consequence of your choice was?"

"...My mom died?"

Was he being serious? I shook my head. "No, try again." However, when he still couldn't come up with the answer that I'd been looking for, I huffed and said it for him. "By letting your anger and your pride get the better of you, you lost your sense of reasoning. It's a subtle consequence that was unfortunately backed up by larger, much more traumatic events, but it's not something you should disregard entirely. In fact, I think it says a lot about who we are as people. We're always so quick to bare our teeth and swallow our stability, but is the price of that really worth the overall cost? I guess what I'm saying is, had you gone back downstairs and apologized to your mother, do you really think you'd be sitting here telling me how sorry you feel? Probably not. After all, we don't know how much time we have left on this stupid planet, so why not make the most of it by following our dreams and making choices with consequences that we know we won't regret?"

Damn, I had not expected to get all preachy there. What the Hell came over me? I think I needed to start getting more sleep at night.

For most of my lecture, Eren's eyes had been wandering back and forth from my eyes to my lips and back again. I hadn't thought much of it, until he agreed with my excessively long set of statements and proposed a question of his own. "With all of that being said," he said slowly, "can I ask you something?"

"Go for it." I had nothing to lose, right?

Twirling his tongue in a way that allowed me to snag a quick glimpse of his silver stud, Eren sucked on his lower lip before finally uttering, "Do you regret kissing me?"

I wasn't going to lie to myself. At first, I'd really regretted it. I also really regretted the fact that I'd bit into a tattoo that was relevant to his dead mother, I mean, how creepy was that? But did I regret the kiss as a whole or how good it made me feel? That answer was easy.

"I don't."

I'd said those two words with a straight face and an even straighter posture. The only thing that wasn't straight about me was my sexuality, but hey, that was something I'd made incredibly apparent by my advancements on him this evening. "Do _you_ regret it?"

His body language spoke to me in fifty different tongues, but even though I already knew the answer to my question, I waited from Eren to make himself comfortable enough to answer it himself. With a hand on his neck and arm wrapped around his midriff, he shook his head slightly. It wasn't the verbal response I'd been expecting, but it was a clear indication that he wasn't feeling any regrets, either. Ugh. Damn him for acting cute and stuff after all of this. Again, this was getting awkward. I mean, what did that even make us? I'd never been one for labels, but there was no way that our relationship could be classified as "business professional" anymore - not like it was ever "professional" to begin with.

"...I have another question," Eren eventually said. The silence must have been eating away at him, and I couldn't blame him for that. The shop could get creepily quiet if literally no one was making a sound.

"Yeah?"

With every tick and every tock of the hanging wall clock, I counted the seconds that it took for Eren to speak up again. In the end, eleven seconds had passed before he asked, "Can I kiss you again?"

I snorted. Since when had he turned into Mister "Ask First"? I legitimately wanted to know what was going on in that brain of his that caused such a change. "You didn't ask me the first time you kissed me," I pointed out. "Or the second."

"Yeah, well," Eren stated defensively, "neither did you. And I'm asking you now, so...can I?"

Oh, what the Hell. Why not? I'd already accepted my messed up feelings for this kid, so why not indulge in them a bit more by trying to seem as disinterested as possible?

"Sure, whatever." See? That's the ticket.

I was happy to see that spark of confidence return to Eren's overall composure. It was that very arrogance I hated so much that drew me to him in the first place. Other than myself, Eren was the first person I'd seen that kind of behavior from. It was annoying - God, was it annoying - but it was also refreshing, okay? Sue me for liking a little bit of a challenge.

Preparing myself for the kiss, I stood tall and waited for Eren to do the same. Not gonna lie, it was a bit of a blow to my pride when he stood taller than me, but I tried not to pay too much mind to it. If he and I were about to kiss again, I needed to stay focused so that neither of acquired the upper hand.

As Eren swooped down to my level, I gradually began to close my eyes. Let me tell you, there was nothing more mood-killing than an open-eyed kiss. I even tried it once with a girl I'd dated back in high school. Yeah, no. It was really weird, and I never wanted to do it again.

With my eyes completely closed and my lips waiting to be taken by Eren's, I had to wonder why he was stalling. Just before I'd closed my eyes, his face had been right in front of mine. Was he just staring at me, or something? Curiosity killed the cat, but I had to see for myself anyway.

The exact second I opened my eyes was the second I felt a distinct pair of lips pecking at my upper cheek before withdrawing just as quickly as they'd come. That hadn't been the kind of kiss I was expecting, but I think that's what I liked most about it. Eren was simply full of unexpected occurrences, and that kiss right there only proved the theory further.

Man, today's session turned out to be a lot better than I thought it would.

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_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_This chapter started off smooth, but it definitely took a turn for the awkward, didn't it? Haha, I hope I didn't make any of you cringe with too much secondhand embarrassment! I'm actually really happy that I got to write more about Eren's other tattoos, though. So far, this story has mainly been focusing on the one tattoo that he wants removed, but I think it's good to remember that he has other tattoos that he genuinely loves having on his body, as well. (:_

_As a side note, I want to direct your attention back to the last chapter. Did any of you notice anything about about the colors that Levi used to paint the photograph of the library building? You get bonus points in my book, if you did! _

_Anywho, that's enough rambling from me! I sincerely hope that you enjoyed reading this chapter just as much as I enjoyed writing for it!_

_And as always, thank you for taking the time to read! I truly appreciate it! (:_

_- Chappy_


	12. Navy

I found it kind of funny how after we'd kissed, what? Like, three or four times? Eren thought it might be a nice idea to ask me if I was gay. Not before we kissed, but after. Yeah. He was such an idiot.

I felt like I didn't have a good enough answer for him, honestly, so my response was pretty much just a shrug and a heavily disinterested sound of, well, disinterest. I soon figured that I'd just spare him the constant questions - not like he ever spared me of them - by clarifying, "I've never really thought about it before, I guess. I've always just kissed who I felt like kissing, touched who I felt like touching, and so on."

"'And so on'?" Eren quoted, boasting a cheeky grin.

My gaze narrowed threateningly at him. "Watch yourself, kid," I warned. "You've blabbed to me about your disturbing sex life on more than one occasion, so you have no room to talk."

Eren was still smiling with pride, as he innocently clasped his hands behind his back and began swaying to and fro. "Fair enough, fair enough. Although, I have to say, it's kind of weird picturing how someone like you would act in the sack."

"Don't picture that." Um, what the Hell? Let's just pretend I didn't hear Eren say that.

Even after I stepped away and started toward the front desk, I could hear that kid still snickering to himself about that stupid comment he'd made. Anything I may or may not have thought about tonight supposedly going way better than planned, one more snort out of him and I was going to revoke all of it.

Irritably fumbling through paper schedules and discarded sketches, Eren must have grown curious as to what I was doing, because just as I'd found what I'd been looking for, I realized that he was no longer standing beside the tattoo chair; he was right behind me. "Are you looking for something?" he asked, even though the answer was more than obvious.

I turned around and promptly handed him the photograph of the old library building he'd asked me to paint for him. "Not anymore," I said, affirming my words by pointing at the picture. "This was my homework assignment, right? Well, I finished it, so here."

Never did I expect to see someone look at a tainted photograph with such admiration, but Eren managed to shatter all of my expectations. Pinching the edges of the picture with utmost care, his eyes widened with great perplexity as they darted back and forth, visually consuming the details of my work.

After his moment of silent appreciation, Eren spoke. His wording, however, could have initially been taken as an grave insult. But I wasn't sensitive to such petty opinions anymore. Whatever he had to say wouldn't affect me, nor would it alter the way I went about creating art.

"You've made a mess of it." Those were his exact words, down to the very last syllable. "It looks like you just took some of your favourite colors and slabbed them all over this photograph. There isn't even a pattern, or at least a distinct correlation between the colors that were used...and it's _perfect_."

As if taken into a trance, Eren's fingers skipped from the clouds that were speckled with orange, to the skies that were smeared with purple. They danced across the green cobblestones, the gold roof, and played with the red and black outer wall. Everything down from the blue windows to the yellow doorway, Eren's fingers admired it all, stroking each of the places my own fingers had been individually.

"You know," he began to say, when he finally spoke up again, "when I gave you this picture to paint, I promised myself that I wouldn't get my hopes up." I wanted to question him on that, but quickly decided against the potential argument. Folding my arms, I let him continue. "You're a busy guy and I honestly thought that you'd just forget about this whole thing, but you obviously didn't. What's more is you took what I told you and just went with it."

Interrupting him, I made it a point to mention, "Well, it's not like you gave me specific instructions to go by. All you said was to paint it and to give it back to you."

I could sense a master plan in the works, for Eren smiled affectionately at my response. "Exactly," he remarked. "That's exactly it. And do you know why I didn't give you any further instructions?"

If I thought about it hard enough, I could probably make a few educated guesses, but Hell, it was nearing the end of my shift, I was tired, and I didn't feel like using my brain for anything other than involuntary means of survival, so I shrugged. Why do the extra work, when I already knew that Eren was oh, so eager to tell me the answer himself?

"Because this is _your_ dream, Levi," he said softly. "Don't you see it? You probably do." Pausing for the breath of a second before rounding up his thought, Eren flipped the photograph back over and held it up for my viewing pleasure. "Metaphorically speaking, you do realize that you've painted a small part of this town, don't you?"

Of course I realized it. It may have taken me a bit longer to figure out than Hanji did, but I'd been able to draw that conclusion on my own. But even with one question answered, numbers of new questions began to surface, like why was Eren even doing this in the first place? Did he have an ulterior motive? Was he just bored out of his mind? Did he find it amusing to confuse me? Granted, those questions may have been fine and dandy - real conversation starters, like we needed any more of those - but they weren't the main focus that I was after. Above all else, there was only one thing on my mind: "If it's my dream, I don't understand the point of why I have to give that picture back to you."

By the way Eren had let out an amused huff, I figured my question must have been good; good enough to trot around and leave completely unanswered. Waving dismissively and shooing away my constant curiosity, he promised, "Oh, you'll see. I promise, you'll definitely see. But for now, I'm going to treasure this lovely masterpiece and keep it somewhere nice and safe. And that reminds me - there's actually something else I need to show you, too."

Oh, great. Show and tell again. Was it another picture? I mean, that had been a simple guess, but based on my experience from the last time Eren had to show me something, I ended up with the most self-satisfying, yet completely mind-boggling assignment of my entire life; even my Introductory Chemistry course back in college made more sense than Eren did sometimes. "What is it?" I asked.

"Come with me to my car," Eren said invitingly. With a flick of his wrist, he strolled up to the entrance of the shop. When he sensed that I made no move to follow him, he peered back over his shoulder. "Come on."

I take orders from no one, but apparently I take orders from Eren.

I made certain to show him that I wasn't the least bit pleased to be catering to his command by dragging out a heavy sigh, before reluctantly following after him. I probably could have locked up the shop on my way out. Eren was the last customer I had scheduled for today; after he left, I would make a break for it, too. But the thought didn't cross my mind until my feet had already hit the gravel, so there was no sense in dwelling on it.

Reaching his car first, Eren dug around for his keys and popped open the locks to the backseats. As I remembered, the back of his car was still cluttered with dozens of photographs, both new and old. Coincidentally, as my eyes drew back and forth from photo to photo, I noticed one picture in particular that had captured my fancy. It was photograph of a woman set in a sepia tone, but even with the corrected color scheme, I could envision her features almost perfectly. Her hair had to have been a deep, chestnut brown, and her eyes couldn't have been anything other than delicate drops of honey. With such charming characteristics composed in just a single photograph, I had no doubts as to who this woman was. Had Eren not interrupted our subtle silence by tossing a paper envelope at me, I would have mentioned something about it.

"You could have just handed it to me," I grumbled. I'd nearly dropped the thing, so of course I was a bit ticked off. "Is this what you wanted to show me?"

Eren nodded. Hearing the pebbles plunge beneath his feet as he rounded the back of his car, he stood next to me as he said, "It's not like it's a big surprise, or anything. I mean, what do you think is inside of the envelope?"

I gave the envelope a quick shake. It wasn't heavy, but it was definitely full. "More pictures?"

"Heh, yeah." Eren fondled the back of his neck, soon thereafter prompting me to take a look inside. "There's a lot in there. I forgot how many exactly, but I think there's about fifty."

Fifty seemed like a pretty good estimate, judging by the weight of the envelope. Peeling back the plastic film and thumbing the flap to open it up, I realized a bit too late that I'd just followed another one of Eren's orders. I would have looked inside of the envelope regardless of his instruction, but that didn't change the fact that my actions looked like a direct response to his command. Damn it. Maybe I was looking at this too literally. It was only common nature to coax someone on, when you were showing them something, right? I needed to calm down and focus.

After spreading the sides of the envelope wide enough, I reached into the fold and pulled out a handful of photos. Just like the photograph of the library building, the pictures that I held within my hand were also of other buildings from around the town. Like the answer wasn't already obvious, I asked, "You took all of these?"

"In my spare time, yeah," Eren answered. "I see it as a learning experience. Even though I've been living here for a little while now, I still feel like an outsider. I want to be able to know where places are and how to get to them, so I consider taking these pictures just as much of a homework assignment as painting them is."

He wasn't being serious, was he? Driving all around town and taking pictures of random buildings was a lot morework than he was giving himself credit for. And for what? To make my stupid dream come true? There had to be a catch; there was _always _a catch.

Slipping the pictures back into the envelope, I looked up to Eren and addressed him. "I really don't understand why you're doing all of this, Eren. It doesn't make sense for you to be putting so much time and effort into a ridiculous dream that's not even your own."

Eyeing me almost amusedly, Eren must have been expecting me to say something like that, because his response was almost immediate. "Don't you remember my promise to you?" I didn't answer that. "Well, then. Let me refresh your memory: after you and I had ice cream together, you opened up to me and told me about your lifelong dream. I thought it was an incredible dream to have, and I even went as far as giving you a hint about mine, but that's not the focus here. I promised to make your dream a reality, and no matter how silly this project may seem to you, it's important to me...because you're kind of important to me."

Whoa, whoa. Wait a minute now. Did he just say...?

"Haha, so, um, just be sure to paint those pictures like you did with the first one, okay? I guess I won't be seeing you until my next appointment, so you have a month to get all of them done. That should be enough time, right?"

No, no. Back up a second. Did Eren just say that...?

"Anyway, I should probably get going. I have to study for midterms and junk, so...I'll see you in a month?" Eren was still awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, as he eyed me expectantly. What did he want me to say? That he was important to me, too? That was impossible. I couldn't rightfully say such a thing without it being partially untrue...could I?

"Yeah." I nodded. "I'll see you then." And that was the end of that. No more words were exchanged, just awkward eye shifts and tense movements. Eren eventually got into his car and drove away, and I headed back into the shop to get ready for lock up. It was only 7PM, but I figured the Hell with it. I was tired, I was confused, and I had Eren's pictures to deal with. All I wanted to do was to go home and stuff my face into my pillow; maybe then I would be able to drown out Eren's relentless words.

_'...Because you're kind of important to me.'_

On second thought, there was no way I'd be getting any sleep tonight.

* * *

Sunday afternoons are wonderful for two reasons in particular: the shop is closed, and the radio tends to favor acoustic music as opposed to that pop-culture garbage that's usually on. Because of those reasons, Sundays are typically when I'm at my peak of creativity. I like to open the windows to let a light breeze in (even if it's below zero outside), and regardless of how much (or how little) sleep I got the night prior, I find my energy levels to be at an all-time high. Whoever says Sunday is the best day of the week, I can agree with them whole-heartedly...most of the time.

Depending on the circumstances, Sundays can get pretty annoying, pretty fast.

Even though I've verbally expressed my wishes to her on multiple occasions, Hanji never seems to respect them. When has she ever, really? Oh, he says he wants to be alone on his day off? He says he wants to have some time to himself, so that he can paint to his heart's content? Nah, let's go ahead and bother him. He definitely wants my intrusive company hanging around his apartment. Totally, for sure.

Now, it doesn't tend happen all the time. Hanji usually sticks to her own agenda on our day off, but when her schedule is free from pending necessities, I am automatically her go-to guy for entertainment.

Three weeks had passed since I'd last seen Eren. It was the Sunday before Halloween, and damn, were my creative juices flowing. Darker renditions of old-time classics spilled out from the speakers of the small radio that sat on the windowsill, filling the main studio of my apartment with a lovely atmosphere for inspiration.

For the most part, I'd finished painting over most of the photographs that Eren had given to me. Most of the photos were of buildings, so I made sure to get those out of the way first. I wouldn't exactly want to describe them as being tedious to paint, but they definitely required a lot more thought when choosing a color scheme for them.

But the landscape pictures could be just as much of a commitment as the buildings, too.

It felt boring to just smear a single color across the river and call it a day; it was much more satisfying to blend several colors together, to mix the different shades with one another to build a contrast between them. Building that contrast - plain and simple - took time, and that's why I figured I'd dedicate one of my Sundays to getting some of the landscape photos done.

Or so I thought.

Just as I was about to slide my fingers across the smooth shade of navy that had taken me maybe a few minutes to perfect, there was a loud set of thumps pounding against the front door, followed by a voice that told me the one thing I had not wanted to hear.

Today was the day that I was the go-to guy for entertainment.

"Levi!" Hanji began to shout, like her rapping fists weren't already a disturbance enough. "I know you're in there! Let me in! Come on, let me in!"

"I'm not home," I called back monotonously. Hey, it was worth a shot, right?

Hanji groaned dramatically at my dry sense of humor. "Ugh, come on! Just let me in already! I have a ton of food in my arms, and if I don't put it down soon, I'm going to drop all of it!"

Apparently "a ton of food" was the equivalent to one bag of Chinese take-out, because that's all I saw Hanji carrying after I unwillingly opened the door for her. What a liar. I should have known better than to trust her so gullibly. But before I could shut the door in her face, she'd slipped into my apartment and immediately made herself at home.

Well, there goes my Sunday.

Waving goodbye to the best day of the week, I trailed behind Hanji like a raging lion would trail behind their prey. She knew that I was upset. She even said something close to, "Oh, I know you're probably upset..." but did that give her enough incentive to pack up her egg rolls and her pork-fried rice and leave? Unfortunately no. It didn't.

"I told you that I wanted to paint today." Exhaling the words and exercising as much self-restraint as I could manage, I asked, "Why are you here?"

"Oh, you know!" she giggled. No, I didn't know. I wouldn't have asked if I had known, therefore, her answer meant nothing to me. Quickly sensing that I was in no mood for games, thankfully, she cut the crap and cut right to the chase: "Okay, okay, you got me. I'm here, because I wanted to talk to you about something...or rather, _someone_."

Sticking my fingers into the bag of food after it had been carefully set down on the counter, I searched around for my portion of the meal. "What?" I wondered, with only minor interest. "Did you and Mike call it quits again?"

Mike was Hanji's on-again, off-again boyfriend. They'd been "dating" ever since I'd met her back in college, but the test of time seemed to be wearing thin on their relationship. They never got married, and they never thought about saying goodbye to each other forever. No matter who they dated on the side when their relationship status was on hiatus, they always just kind of fell back onto one other again.

"No, no," Hanji said, as she swatted my hand away from one of the containers of chicken soup. I thought she was implying that the soup was hers at first, but then she spoke up again. "It's not about Mike - we're still together, by the way."

Yeah, and for how long? Honestly, I was already pissed off enough that she'd slammed the breaks against my Sunday plans, and now she was playing mind games with me? Just spit it out already. "Who do you want to talk about, then?" If she knew what was good for her, it better not have been me.

Whenever Hanji had a feeling that I wasn't going to like what she had to say, she did this thing where she would push her glasses all the way up to the bridge of her nose and then scratch the back of her neck with fidgeting fingers. I'd known her long enough to pick up on that nervous habit, meaning she never seemed to learn her lesson.

After all, one of her favourite pass-times was saying things that she knew would get on my nerves.

"I wanted to talk to you about Eren."

"Oh." Oh. "Is that all?" Was that really it?

Obviously Hanji was taken aback by how cavalier I'd reacted toward the topic. She must have been under the impression that talking about my personal business was some kind of big deal - and yes, I just referred to Eren as my "personal business".

"...You're okay with talking about him?" She was stressing the subject more than she had to, and it was annoying. Did I ever make her feel like talking about him was difficult for me? Hell, I opened up to her about practically everything, after Eren and I had kissed that first time. Would I do that if I was uncomfortable talking about him?

With that being said, I was already disinterested in our conversation and cracked open the carton of soup with a sigh. Twirling the contents with one of the plastic spoons that I'd grabbed from inside the bag, I took a careful sip from the broth and swallowed, leaving my tastebuds to relish in the wonderful flavor of added sodium.

"Look," I started to say, before deciding I didn't like the defensiveness in my own tone. I quickly changed that. "Honestly, there isn't much to talk about." There. Same statement, different approach.

Hanji nearly knocked over my container of soup, when her hands slapped against the counter in eager frustration. "Not much to talk about? Not much to talk about?!" She said it once, she didn't have to say it twice. "What do you mean there's not much to talk about?!" Okay, three times.

I shrugged. "I mean...that there's not much to talk about?" And with the way I saw it, that was the truth. I really didn't think that anything super major had happened between the two of us that it needed to be reported a second time. I already told Hanji about how we'd kissed again during his second removal session, I told her all about Eren's mother, and I even mentioned his awkward slip up when he'd said that I was important to him. What else did she want from me?

Realizing that she was acting out of line, Hanji apologized for her behavior and began digging around for something in the take-out bag. An egg roll, I'm guessing. "I'm sorry, Levi. I guess I just feel like...I don't understand the two of you, if that makes sense."

Well, it didn't, so I asked her to elaborate.

"I mean, I guess what I'm trying to say is, you and Eren have kissed quite a few times now, and there's obviously some attraction and tension going on between you guys, but what? Are you dating? Better yet, are you and him even friends? Do you even have each other's cell phone numbers? These are just a few of the things that I'm trying to comprehend over here, but I can't. I don't have enough answers."

I could understand Hanji's concerns, and while they were appreciated, they were unnecessary. "You don't need answers, and you don't have to worry about us. We're adults; we know what we're doing."

We_ were_ adults, that much was true, but we had no idea what the Hell we were doing. At least, I didn't.

I had it in my head that I liked to kiss Eren because his lips felt good against mine, but there was more to it than just that, wasn't there? I liked the feeling of his legs beneath my hands, and how I could feel every twitch and every twinge of his muscles when I squeezed them. I also recalled liking the feeling of his neck, how it would arch against my command and react with utmost obedience. And then there were his eyes. Their feeling wasn't physical, but rather, a state of mind. Watching his sunrise eyes narrow from a challenge to the point of vulnerable closure stirred me up in ways I didn't know I could be stirred.

Eren did things to my brain that I would do anything to understand. By for now, maybe it was best to take things slow. Test out the waters, if you will - just like the clear waters of the lakeside landscape I'd been meaning to paint before Hanji showed up.

I'd said it once, but I'd say it again: I hated labels. Boyfriend, girlfriend; husband, wife. Did it really matter? At the end of the day, it's the feelings that count. And Eren and I, we were definitely starting to feel things for each other, but where was the harm in just being open about it for a while? I didn't see anything wrong with it, and Eren wasn't complaining either, so was the big deal?

"Look," Hanji sighed. Now she was the one who sounded defensive. "I know that you two are adults and have the right to do whatever you feel like doing, but to be honest, it's not you that I'm worried about: I'm worried about Eren. I'm not really sure if he's emotionally stable enough to be playing around with his tattoo artist, you know what I mean?"

Hanji did realize that three out of the four times we've kissed, Eren had been the instigator of them, didn't she? And hey, if you wanted to get all technical and whatnot, you could probably count that "three" as three and a half. I may have been leading up to kiss Eren that time when he was supposedly asleep, but he surprised me by quickly claiming the upper hand.

With the sweet sound of the wind blowing against the canvases in the studio, rustling the photographs that were secured there, my attention was drawn over to the window. I'd almost forgotten that I'd left it open. Not only that, but the Halloween-influenced music that played on the radio had become nothing but muffled background noise; it wasn't until I noticed the breeze from the window that I realized it was still playing. Even with the sounds that resonated between us, there was also a silence. And we listened to that silence, letting it loom over us like it was our conscience. It wasn't until a minute or so later that I was the first and last to talk. Not to myself, and not to Hanji. I just simply talked.

"If Eren says he doesn't like it anymore, we'll stop. We'll stop."

We'd put the "business" piece back into "personal business"; it's as simple as that. As simple as navy currents flowing through the waters of the lakeside.

* * *

If Sundays are the best day of the week, Mondays are, by far, the worst.

Hanji and I had spent the entire morning catering to a client who, apparently, had a strong phobia of needles. Food for thought: if you're afraid of needles, don't get a tattoo. You know, it's just a suggestion.

By the time we were finished outlining and coloring in her sun pattern, we were so exhausted that we seriously considered closing up the shop, even though it was only a few minutes after noon. But that wouldn't do, now would it? Because just as we'd finalized our master plan of hanging a "Gone Fishing" sign out on the front door - you know, just for hahas - the overhead bell had chimed, signaling that we had a customer.

And just who the Hell do you think that oh, so fateful customer was?

"You know, you're a little early, kid," I said, shaking my head as none other than Eren himself waltzed his way into my shop. I had to say, I found it a bit too coincidental how he was wearing a beanie with a navy shade to it only a day after I'd been so focused on the color for my painting. "Your appointment isn't until next week."

"Oh, I know," Eren said, as certain of himself as ever. "I'm not here for my removal session."

Was that so? Well then. With folded arms and a cocked brow, I enticed him to further specify. "Then what are you here for?"

In every career, there will be times where you absolutely love your job, and there will be times where you will absolutely hate your job. There will also be times where people like Eren come along, who make your working life a complete mess. And God, did he make it a mess.

"I'm here to see you," was Eren's answer, nevertheless complete with his trademark grin. "I'm here, because I want to get a new tattoo."

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_If you know me from "Feathers and Follies", you must know that I am famous for cliffhangers, woohoo! And I have to say, TMPF has been pretty tame with its cliffhangers, hasn't it? Well, that's about to change! Get ready for it! (:_

_I mentioned this on my tumblr account, but this chapter is kind of just a whole lot of nothing, but with stuff still going on in between. If it bored any of you to death, I deeply apologize! Hopefully the next chapter will be more exciting for you guys, but I__ hope you were able to still enjoy the chapter, regardless!_

_And as always, thank you for taking the time to read!_

_- Chappy_


	13. White

_What is it going to be this time?_

That was my initial reaction to Eren's ridiculous statement. Before the shock, and even before the confusion, there was only untainted curiosity. And then a second passed. A second passed, and the previously mentioned emotions began to settle in.

I may have been the first to react (a simple brow lift was reaction enough), but Hanji was the first to speak. She'd been seated at the front counter, trying her best to open the new box of staples she'd been working on for the past two minutes or so. With Eren's words still ringing through our ears, much like the faint, yet still present chime of the overhead bell, she dropped the still unopened staple box onto the desk and stood up. "Eren," she spoke slowly, with wonder, "are you seriously getting a new tattoo?"

Ah, so I hadn't been the only one having trouble swallowing his statement. It wasn't like we were the ones at fault, either. Our brains had been programed, wired to understand that Eren was after one thing and one thing only: to get one of his tattoos removed. But even so, that never negated the possibility of him wanting to get another tattoo, and it certainly never diminished his appreciation for the other tattoos he currently had. When adding those opposing factors to the equation, it should have made him easier to understand, but it didn't. Eren was as confusing as they come, which is why when he began to laugh, I felt like biting into something.

It started off as a snort and a chuckle, before his laughter erupted into an open-mouthed melody. I could see the shining glint of his piercing, as his tongue plastered itself to the back of his bottom teeth. How mannerless, how distasteful, but how, oh, so sweet his laugh had sounded, as it reverberated throughout his entire being.

It took him a while, but after taking his breather and settling himself down, Eren finally admitted, "Of course I'm not being serious. I mean, getting a new tattoo isn't out of the question for the future, but I mostly just said that, because I wanted to see the looks on your faces when I told you. Just so you know, they were priceless."

Well, that answered absolutely nothing. Now we were back to square one.

In need of a complete answer to the primary question, I began to ask, "If you're not here for that, then what are you here for?" Furthermore, I felt obligated to add, "I can tell you right now that if it's to pick up the pictures, I'm not finished yet."

Eren peered over his shoulder, almost as if something had drawn his attention, before stuffing his hands into his back pockets and shaking his head. "Nah, I'm not here for that. Actually, I'm not here for myself at all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

When Eren flicked his tongue against his teeth, the sound of silver clicking against enamel reminded me of our kiss. That stupid stud had been making so much noise that the sound of it was permanently etched into my memory. And you know how memories work; they resurface at some of the most inappropriate of times.

After checking over his shoulder for a second time, Eren simply said, "I'm here for moral support."

Taking over the reigns of our conversation, Hanji was the one who asked, "Who needs your moral support, Eren?" I was kind of glad that she had stepped in and asked that. I would have asked him myself, but I still needed a moment to clear my dormant thoughts of the erotic memory that decided to assault them.

For the third time, Eren looked over his shoulder before answering. Unless he'd developed a nervous habit in the three weeks it'd been since we'd last seen each other, my guess was that he was waiting for someone.

"My roommate." He'd sounded a bit ticked off, as he said that. "We drove here together, but he got a call from his girlfriend just as we were pulling into the lot. I told him to call her back later, but he insisted that if he didn't answer, she'd just keep calling until he picked up."

"And your roommate needs moral support because...?" Eren loved dancing around his answers. He always gave us half of what we asked for, until we expressed a need for elaboration.

This time, instead of merely looking back over his shoulder, Eren turned himself around and stuck his nose to the glass of the front door. Tapping on it a few times like one would do to a fish tank, he huffed against glass, leaving a breathy cloud of condensation behind. "He wants to get a half-head tattoo. He already shaved off his hair for it and everything, but I'm starting to think that his girlfriend called him to try and change his mind about it."

A half-head tattoo, huh? It had been a while since I'd worked on one of those. They were always interesting, depending on who my client was - meaning it could be lots of fun, or a living nightmare. Nevertheless, some of my most detailed designs were ink patterns that I'd sketched into skulls. Being an area of such high sensitivity and public disinterest, though, they were relatively low in demand. If given the chance, I'd love to be able to do another one.

Taking a few steps back, Eren gave his roommate some space to open the front door and let himself inside of the shop. "Ugh, it's about time," he grumbled. "What did Annie want this time? Was she trying to convince you to back out?"

Now, I'm not one to judge people about their personal business and whatnot, but hold up for just a second. The guy that just walked into my shop was _huge_. I'm talking protein shakes and bench pressing 50kg huge. Seeing a guy like him on the streets wouldn't have been that big of a deal, but seeing him standing next to someone like Eren was a bit of a shock. And to think, these two were roommates? What the Hell did they even have in common, aside from their tattoos?

"Yeah, she wants me to take some time to think about it more," Eren's roommate sighed. He rose his hand to scratch at the newly shaved side of his head, before adding, "She's pretty scary when she's pissed off, man. I feel like getting it right after she told me to think about it might seriously tick her off."

Eren mumbled something about driving all the way over to my shop, only to drive all the way back to wherever they came from empty-handed. "Don't worry about pissing her off. You've been wanting to get this tattoo for months. I think that's a long enough time to think about something like this."

"I guess she's just worried."

"Or controlling."

Watching the dramatic tale unfold grew pretty boring, pretty fast. Was I going to be tattooing this big man's head today, or not? Yes or no? That's all I needed to know.

Just as I had chosen to walk away and give the two some room to argue about a decision, I felt a hand reach out and grab onto my arm like a vice. It was no surprise when Eren's voice was heard soon thereafter.

"Hey, where are you going? I still haven't introduced you two yet."

No, of course you haven't. You and Mr. "I-Lift-Things-Up-And-Put-Them-Down" were too busy chatting up a storm to even notice my budding impatience. Honestly, kids these days.

Continuing on from there, Eren used the hand that wasn't currently cutting off my circulation to point my attention back toward his roommate. "Levi, this is Reiner Braun. He and I have been living together ever since I moved here. He's a pretty chill guy, with a super bossy girlfriend, apparently"

"I'm gonna tell her you said that," Eren's roommate, Reiner, threatened. "She's gonna kick your ass."

"Yeah, I'd like to see her try. Anyway, Reiner's been wanting to get his head tattooed for about as long as I've been living with him. Mind you, he's been here a lot longer than I have, but he still didn't know of any reputable tattoo shops in the area that would do a good enough job tattoo for him. That's obviously when I recommended he come to your shop. I knew that you guys would be more than willing to fill his request, isn't that right?"

In many languages, there are certain ways of phrasing questions to lead them to your advantage. What Eren was doing was the equivalent of - in a very light sense - verbal manipulation. Saying no to a question that ended with a "isn't that right" or "isn't that so" would make anyone look like a jerk, so that's why I took a different approach. Even if it were genuinely true, I wasn't going to let Eren catch me in his little word trap.

"It depends," I said, and shrugged. "Is he getting the tattoo or not?"

Looking to Reiner before looking back over at me, Eren seemed to have a glint of appreciation in his eyes. It was almost as if they were saying, _"Good. Act just like your regular self. There's no need to be on your best behavior around my guest."_ Turning back to his roommate for a second time, he tauntingly asked, "I don't know, Reiner. Are you getting the tattoo or not?"

It bugged me how this Reiner guy was still scratching at the shaved side of his head. If he kept at it, he was going to irritate his skin, and that was never a good thing to do when preparing to get a tattoo. "I mean, I don't know, either," he answered honestly. "Annie's really been nagging me about a lot of stuff lately. If I get it, what if it turns out to be the end of us?"

"If she breaks up with you over a tattoo, then she never truly loved you in the first place."

The way Eren had said those words could have silenced an entire room of screaming children. There was a distinct chill in his voice, unlike anything I'd ever heard from him before. It was a certain kind of eeriness that sent goosebumps shooting up my arms and down the back of my neck, leading me think, _'Hey, not bad. This kid sure does have some guts.'_

Even Hanji must have felt the chill from where she was standing, because after releasing a childish _Brrr! _sound from the top of her throat, she said, "You know, that's really cold, Eren! Way to pile on the pressure!"

Sighing, Eren responded by saying, "I'm just telling it like it is. If she's really going to break up with you over something like this, then there wasn't really much of anything to your relationship in the first place. Keeping that in mind, think of your answer. Are you going to do it, or not?"

Such a blatant sense of indecisiveness was not something I'd expected coming from a man of Reiner's build. I mean, Hell, women could get pretty scary when they were pissed off, but was a fear of getting yelled at - or worse, the silent treatment - really worth chasing away your own wants and desires? Personally, I didn't believe so, and Eren was certainly making it very clear that he didn't think so, either.

"Can I take a moment to call her again?" Reiner insisted. The awkward nature of his pleading tone had Hanji nearly popping a blood vessel trying to contain her laughter.

"Go ahead." I didn't understand why he was asking me that, or why he would even need to ask such a thing at all. I wasn't his mother. He could do whatever the Hell he wanted to.

After Reiner had excused himself to make his phone call, Eren flicked his wrist and used his the back of his lips and teeth to make the sound of a cracking whip. At that point, Hanji was so far gone that she, too, had to momentarily leave the room to recompose herself. With just the two of us standing alone, there was no way to ebb the flood of memories from resurfacing; and of course, I wasn't the only one feeling subjected to those thoughts.

"Sorry to drop in so unexpectedly like this," Eren apologized. Yeah, you heard that right. Eren _apologized_. "I didn't know it was going to end up being such a big deal. I probably should have called first."

"Eh, whatever," I said, my shoulders slumping. "I've dealt with worse clients before." Like this morning, for example. I probably should have used that incident as a means to enforce a new policy: if you are afraid of needles, get the Hell out of my shop. It may sound tough, but it's for their own damn good - and mine.

However, hearing me say that must have made Eren curious. "Oh, yeah? Like who?"

"Heh. Like _you_."

Most people would have taken offense to that statement, but no, not Eren. He saw it as a compliment. In fact, it was probably the biggest compliment I'd ever given him.

"You're not just saying that, are you?" I could feel the shift in Eren's demeanor, as he stepped closer. His eyes were challenging and sly, much like they always were. However, what I couldn't make sense of was why, after all of the times I'd been annoyed to death by his cocky behavior, why was I suddenly seeing it as a major turn on?

Seeing him inch closer and closer made my lips feel eager. They wanted to play with Eren's just like they had nearly a month ago. Toying with his tongue ring, sliding across his pearly-white teeth. But just as I'd come to my realization - one that I'm almost positive Eren had been sensing as well - Reiner came bursting back into the shop with a round of mighty good news.

"She said I can look over some sketches!" he announced. His face was all smiles, as his chest heaved with happiness. If I hadn't understood Eren's makeshift cracking sound before, I definitely understood it now; this boy was whipped beyond belief.

"Fantastic." Had I said that in any more of a monotone, I would have insulted the dead. Simply looking at my sketches was fine and dandy, but it didn't do one thing: it didn't confirm the customer. More often than not, I would have "clients" come by my shop to look at sketches, only to never show up again. Hanji and I had two words for those types of people - one of them being an expletive, of course - but we typically referred to them as "soul-shoppers".

When our customers look at our sketches, what they don't usually realize is just how much of our trust is being placed into them. Eyes may be considered the windows to the soul, but it's not the same for an artist. An artist has many windows, and those windows are shown through their works. Even if they're merely chicken scratches on a piece of paper, those markings were what the artist was feeling at the time they drew them, and showing one's feelings to another - especially when that person is someone you've never met before - is the biggest leap of faith any artist must take.

I led Eren and Reiner over to the front desk where we kept our book of sketches. Hanji was off somewhere in the back room, probably still trying to muffle her giggles, so I took the liberty of showing off some of our best works. Most of them were typically tattoos that someone would have inked onto their limbs or their torso, but if we tilted the images horizontally, they could work as head tattoos, as well.

"These are our most popular designs," I mentioned, as I continued to flip through the laminated pages of sketched artwork. "They're the go-to designs when people want to get a tattoo, but have no idea what they want to get a tattoo of. We really only have to make minor adjustments to each image; that way, the basis is the same, but every tattoo is still unique."

While Eren nodded his head approvingly at my explanation of how Hanji and I worked our sketches around here, Reiner was intently looking at each of the drawings on the pages, only allowing himself to relax when I took a moment to turn them over. And speaking of, just as I'd been preparing to keep up with my rhythm of turning the pages, I heard a noise that caused made me falter. "What? Saw something you liked?"

"Yeah, actually," Reiner said, seeming a bit antsy. Seriously what was with this kid? He was the size of an elephant, but he was acting like a field mouse. I just couldn't wrap my head around it. "Could you turn back a page?"

In doing so, my eyes swept across two images in particular; one of them being a sketch that I drew, and another being a sketch designed by Hanji. The one that I drew was a sketch of turning gears. I'd been feeling particularly cramped with imagination that day and kept cursing at myself. _'If only my gears would start turning,'_ I would say, for whatever reason, and that's how that sketch came to be, I suppose.

In Hanji's case, her sketch was an elaborate display of frosty snowflakes melting into hot and fiery flames. Her reasoning behind its making was a bit roundabout, but as she was drawing, she said that she wanted to create something that expressed two physical opposites as if they were almost accepting each other's existence. She saw her sketch as something soft and full of heart-felt warmth; however, I only saw its destructive nature. Needless to say, both sketches were relatively masculine in overall design, so it didn't surprise me when Reiner said that he'd wanted to see them again.

He pointed to the first sketch, the sketch of the spinning gears. "I like this one a lot."

"Why?" I wasn't going to interrogate him, I just wanted to know why my sketch in particular had captured his attention. It's no secret that the significance of tattoos has always been an important aspect of the craft for me, and that's one of the reasons why Hanji and I spent hours working on these sketches. We like to have an alternate option available for those feeling lost, or a bit too bound by the idea of forever. More often than not, when people who have no idea what to get a tattoo of flip through our sketches, they will almost immediately find something that catches their fancy, and even _more often _than more often than not, it is something that they can relate to.

"It reminds me of my dad."

There was an unexpected aura of solemness that pooled into the room. I saw Eren bow his head, as if already understanding the circumstances of Reiner's answer. Seeing as I didn't, I asked, "How so?"

Those heavy sighs that cause the head to tip back and the chest to inflate to its fullest extent are the ones to be wary of. They're the sighs of remembrance, but they are also akin of the wishfulness to forget. As Reiner emitted one of those sighs, I knew that I was in for a sob story.

"My dad used to be a mechanic," he explained. "Man, he loved his job more than he loved himself. He would spend hours working on car after car, to the point where he would come home smelling like motor oil and grease every night. It was his dream to eventually open up his own shop. He was even putting away little bits of his paycheck every week to save up for it, but he never got the chance." He took a moment to breathe, stroking the thin plastic covering of the sketch before reaching his conclusion. "One night, when he was driving home from work, he got hit in a head-on collision by a drunk driver who ran through a red light. It's like, the irony of it all, you know? You dedicate so much of your life to fixing cars, and in the end, it's a car that kills you. Damn it."

As one who could sympathize with the loss of a parent, Eren wore a furrowed brow as his hand casually crept up to the tattooed side of his neck. Gently massaging the skin there, he murmured, "I think if you explain to Annie just how much having this tattoo would mean to you, there's no way she could possibly say no. And if she does, well-"

"I'm getting it." I liked the sound of his voice. It sounded strong and determined, just like you'd expect a man of his size was supposed to sound. "No matter what she says, I'm getting it anyway. Maybe not today, but I know that this is the design I want."

"Understood." After Reiner removed his hand from the page, I closed the book and slid it back over to the far side of the counter. "Now that that's settled, we can schedule an appointment."

Fingering through our schedule book, I found the current week and handed it over to Eren's roommate to see if he could find a time slot to his liking. Aside from Eren's removal session next week, we had a pretty open schedule, so he had a lot of options to choose from.

Seeing his name on the sheet for next week, Eren pointed to his time slot and said, "Hey, Reiner. Why don't you come in during this time? You can have Hanji work on you, while Levi _works on me_."

The way in which Eren had dropped his voice toward the latter part of his sentence made my teeth grind. Why must he act like this while in the presence of other people? Did he have no shame? Wait, that was a dumb question. Of course he had no shame. He had none. Zero. No shame whatsoever.

"That won't work." I made my statement firm and clear. "Hanji and I don't swap sketches. If we're the one who drew it, we're also the one who constructs the tattoo." I turned my attention to Eren's roommate. "If you're really set on getting these gears, then I'll be the one tattooing you. Are there any problems with that?" He shook his head. "Glad to hear it."

When Reiner finally came up with a good time that would fit into his school and work schedules, I marked him down and handed him a small slip of paper with both the date and the time written on it to ensure that he wouldn't forget about his appointment. "A tattoo like this is probably going to take two or three visits to complete, depending on your tolerance to pain, and how long you're comfortable with sitting down and having me scrape at your skull. However, if it ends up needing to be more than three visits, I won't charge you for the extras. Sound fair?"

He nodded a second time and thanked me for my patience.

"See?" Dragging out the word, Eren gave Reiner a playful nudge with the curve of his elbow. "I told you that Levi was the best tattoo artist in town, didn't I? What other tattoo shop would give you this much personalized customer service?"

Damn right. I may complain until my mouth runs dry about my clients, but one thing's for sure, and that's the fact that I treat each and every one of my customers with absolute tolerance and respect.

Except for Eren. Eren was a "special" case.

"You're right, you're right," Reiner agreed, as he tried to shrug away Eren's irksome elbow. "You picked a good guy to go to, you really did. Thanks, man."

Pridefully popping his hip, Eren wore his favourite smirk and said, "What can I say? I'm just that good."

After Eren had claimed to have a six sense, Reiner rolled his eyes and suggested that it was time for them to go. He figured they had already done enough "damage" and that it would be respectful if they were to just get out of our hair.

"That's fine, but can I take a piss first?" Eren asked, later admitting, "I've actually been holding it in ever since we got here."

"That's bad for your kidneys," I pointed out.

"God, I know that already! Can you just tell me where the bathroom is?"

I directed him with my finger toward the back room and instructed him to take a left. "Hanji should still be back there, so if you get lost, just ask her. You shouldn't get lost, though, you know, unless you're really dumb. Which in that case, if you get lost, you can ask her."

Eren flipped me off, as he stomped toward the back room in a huff. I couldn't believe it, but he was pretty damn cute, when I had the upper hand over him. Like a little brat who just couldn't get his way. Perfectly pathetic.

With Eren out of the room, I had the presumption that Reiner would simply thank me again and exit the shop. Maybe he would wait out in the parking lot for Eren, or maybe not. I didn't really know. Whatever my presumptions had been, well, I quickly determined that all of them were wrong.

"Hey."

As I turned my head toward him, I noticed a distinct drop in Reiner's attitude. He was staring down at me, wearing an expression of stern intimidation. I had intentions to ask him what his problem was, but ultimately decided that I didn't feel like playing with fire today. "Yeah?"

"I know about you and Eren."

That could have meant a number of things. He could have meant that he knew about our monetary arrangements, or that he knew about the photograph painting trade we had going on, but something told me that he was referring to the obvious - that he knew about our complex relationship.

"What about us?" It was better to air on the side of caution, then to open my mouth and say something completely opposite of what he was thinking, right? For all I knew, he really could have been talking about our monetary arrangements, or our photograph painting trade. But no, my intuition had been right on its mark, because after making sure that I was granting him my fullest attention, he spoke with an air of threat, saying the words that I wouldn't soon forget.

"Look, I don't know very much about what's going on between the two of you, but all I know is that it's getting pretty serious. You are literally _all_ that Eren talks about, day and night, so whether you're feeling the same way as him or not, I think you should know that he is seriously into you."

With a slow, counted step, Reiner left things between the two of us with a final warning.

"He's already been hurt once. Don't be the person who hurts him again."

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_And I bet you're all wondering, "Chappy! Why are you posting the chapter so early? What is this madness!" Well, to tell you the truth, I've been working very hard all week - along with two essays, a French midterm, and Statistics homework - to get this chapter out to you on time, before I pack up and ship myself of to an anime convention! (If you follow my tumblr, you've probably seen my progression post titled "**Things I have to finish writing before AAC**", haha!)_

_Anyway, things are definitely starting to blossom between Eren and Levi! The tension is slowly building between them, while Hanji and Reiner are starting to question whether their relationship is a good idea or not. What's going to happen next, we just don't know!_

_But honestly, I truly hope that you enjoyed this chapter! I worked super hard to get it to you guys on time, I really did! (:_

_And of course, thank you for taking the time to read! I always, always appreciate it!_

_- Chappy_

_**Fun fact:** Eren's roommate was actually going to be Connie, until I made the last minute switch to Reiner. Just thought you guys would enjoy that interesting tidbit!_


	14. Rose

_"He's already been hurt once. Don't be the person who hurts him again."_

I've lived my life gradually losing my sense of trust in others. I mean, look at children. The world that they see is a world that's been masked by rose-colored glasses. Everything is safe, everything is secure, and every stranger is their best friend. As they grow older, however, they're taught to be wary of the people they don't know, they learn about the wonders of mortality, and they discover the presence of war. Slowly but surely, those rose-colored glasses begin to crack, and as they shatter, the world as they know it is flooded with color; true color.

I guess you could say my rose-colored glasses came off pretty early in life, and not because they were forced away from me, or anything like that. No, I took them off. I wanted to see my surroundings for what they truly were, and for what it meant to just honestly be alive. So when I saw a dead squirrel lying on the side of the road, I asked my parents to tell me the truth about what had happened to it; not to make up some dumb tale about how it was "sleeping" and everything would be fine. But they didn't. They lied to me. I could see it, though. I could see the truth.

And for that reason, my sense of trust slowly began to vanish.

When I was six, my parents began to argue about the bills. Our heat had been shut off and our landline hadn't been working for weeks. When I asked them to tell me what was wrong, they told me that we were going to be fine and that there was nothing for me to worry about. When I was eight, I remembered smelling a sharp fragrance, distinct from my mother's flowery perfume, on my father's neck after I'd hugged him. When I asked him why he smelled so bad, he told me that he forgot to take a shower that morning and ran off to clean himself off right away. When I was nine, my mom told me that we were moving and that my dad wasn't coming with us. When I asked her why, she finally opened up to me and told me the truth, the truth that, sadly, I had already known.

My father was a gambler, struggled with bouts of infidelity, and essentially caused our family to be torn apart. Because of his gambling problem, money was always tight and I very much understood the meaning of the word "no". And because of his infidelity, my parents ended up getting divorced when I was in the fifth grade. Right before middle school started, my mom and I uprooted ourselves and moved to a new town where the scenery was unfamiliar but the people were all the same; still living their lives like the world was made of roses.

None of it made sense. None of it made any freaking sense. I was a good guy. Sometimes a jerk, but a good guy nonetheless. Why the Hell would I want to hurt Eren, if I'd been hurt, too?

Now, I'm not talking about my "daddy issues" here, Hell no. What I'm saying is that, just like Eren, I've been cheated on, as well; and more than once, actually. But the thing is, seeing as I was so desensitized to the entire situation, I already knew that it was happening, where it was happening, and how I would handle it. Like taking out the trash or tearing up a piece of paper, we'd break up and move on. No hard feelings, no long-lasting trauma. It was as simple as that. But that's where Eren and I differ. Unfortunately, he had still been proudly sporting those rose-colored shades when he found out about his ex-lover's affair, and that was what led to his emotional demise.

Needless to say, Eren and I both saw the world for what it truly was now. No longer was it washed over in rose-colored bliss; instead, the colors of a world previously unknown had taken over.

When Hanji came back into the main shop, it didn't surprise me that she was still suppressing soft giggles. Once she started laughing, it was nearly impossible to get her to stop. I almost considered tormenting her with the thought of dead puppies to get her to quit, but decided that it wasn't worth it. I had bigger issues to worry about, and Reiner was only one of them. Graciously enough, he had already left, by the time Hanji re-entered the room. Just when I knew she was about to ask about his lack of presence, my questioning tone interrupted her.

"Is Eren still back there?"

Interesting. All I had to do was ask about Eren and she shut up immediately.

Clearing her throat and wiping beneath her eyes, Hanji nodded and replied, "Yeah, he is. We talked for a little bit, before he headed into the bathroom. Why?"

Why? Wasn't it obvious why I was asking? I needed to talk to him, rather, _we _needed to talk to each other. It was about time that the both of us got a few things straightened out.

I shrugged and cast my gaze away from her judging eyes. She could tell that I was up to something. "Just wondering." But it was more than that, and she knew it.

"Is that so?" I nodded, but it still wasn't enough. She pursued. "I see, I see. Where's Reiner?"

After telling her that he had left no more than a few minutes ago, we grew painfully silent. Ironically, it was the type of silence that should have felt natural between us - the silence that we'd become accustomed to - but for whatever reason, the weight of our conversation caused our quiet tongues to taste sour.

Unable to bear the bitterness any longer, I was the first to cave.

"Before he left, Eren's roommate gave me a warning." I didn't feel like addressing him by name. It was a rotten habit I'd formed over the years, where if I felt like somebody had wronged me, I wouldn't give them the benefit of being named. Hanji and I had known each other long enough for her to be able to pick up on that strange little quirk of mine, so undoubtably, before I'd even mentioned anything about the warning, she must have known that something was up.

Her arms began to fold, as her expression became a hint more serious. It was times like this where I almost wished that Eren would come strutting around the corner so that I could avoid talking about the matter any further. But alas, wishes had never been on my side.

"What did he say?" Stepping closer, her entire demeanor and body language began to shift, and not only was she immersed with complete curiosity, but she was doused in a heightened manner of protectiveness, as well. "What kind of warning was it? A threatening one?"

"I guess you could call it that." It wasn't like Reiner had gone too far into detail, but if his firm stance and his aggressive baritone were any indications of his intent, one would most likely presume that his statement hadn't been spoken as a mere warning, but indeed, as a threat. "And he said basically the same thing that you did, so..."

Perplexity furrowed Hanji's brow, as she tried to make sense of what I was saying. Clearly, she'd already forgotten just how adamant she'd been about protecting Eren's well-being the night prior. Maybe this would jog her memory:

"He doesn't want me to hurt Eren."

And there it was. The look of understanding that, quite frankly, was horribly insulting.

Was I really that untrustworthy? I mean, I know I have my jerk-like tendencies, but where did this implication that I was going to hurt Eren even come from? I could understand Reiner's skepticism - Hell, the kid hardly even knew me, but Hanji? We'd known each other for longer than I liked to admit. She should have known better; she should have known _me _better.

"Anyway, that's pretty much all he said."

Without saying much else on the matter, I told Hanji to make herself useful by cleaning up the shelves and rearranging the inks. Over the course of last week and the week before that, they'd become increasingly more and more disorganized, and just the thought of having that much disarray in my shop made me itch. Hanji, still wanting to know more about my little chat with Reiner, huffed at the order, but migrated over to the shelves anyway.

While she was occupied with that, I figured that I'd check up on Eren and see if everything was alright. He'd said that he needed to take a piss, not flush out his entire waste disposal system. If he was like any normal human being, he should have been done by now.

I tried not to seem too concerned, as I discretely headed into the back room. In the off chance that Eren was back there waiting for me, I didn't want him to start thinking that I'd actually been worried about him.

And sure enough, there he was.

Seated with his legs crossed on the old tattoo chair, Eren was casually scrolling through the applications on his cell phone, not really clicking on any one of them in particular, just simply sliding his finger back and forth along the display screen. When he heard my footsteps, his head snapped up and for less than a second, I was able to depict the genuine excitement within his amber eyes, before that untainted innocence was overturned into something much more possessive.

"I knew you'd come back here. I was waiting for you."

Of course he did, and of course he was. That was Eren for you; always making dumb assumptions that somehow almost always ended up being right.

"I wanted to make sure you didn't drown in the toilet bowl," I falsely claimed, but knowing Eren, he would easily be able to pinpoint my crappy sarcasm. "It just seems like the stupid kind of thing you would do."

"You were worried about me." He wasn't asking; he was stating. That snarky brat was so sure of himself that he didn't even have to question my reasoning. He just knew. Damn it.

I could feel what little patience I had left for him seeping down from my very core and pooling at the soles of my firmly planted feet. But that feeling of utter annoyance didn't last for as long as I'd been expecting, because just when the thought of up and leaving the room to prove a point had crossed my mind, I found myself shuffling over to the tattoo chair and sitting down beside Eren, our bodies almost too close for comfort.

My exhaling breath felt so natural that I'd almost tricked myself into believing that I was a smoker. Just add some tabaco and some fire and I'd have a lovely little cloud floating out of my mouth. Wouldn't that be nice.

But Eren remained stiff, stoic. He'd locked the display screen on his cell phone before I even sat down. Huh. That was something that only suspiciously guilty teenagers tended to do. I mean, hey, if he wanted to look up porn on his phone, that was his business, but the way in which his teeth hugged his lower lip, chewing at the skin and grinding into the gums, corrected my initial observation. Eren wasn't guilty; he was nervous.

And damn it, I was nervous, too.

It wasn't like this was the first time Eren had sat down and talked with one another; we did that on a monthly basis. The difference between then and now, however, was the topic at hand. We weren't going to be talking about sob stories or life-long dreams; we were going to be talking about _us_.

Playing with his phone case by slipping it on and off of the device, Eren was seemingly waiting for me to make the first move, but surprise was on my side when he drew in a breath and began to speak himself. "Reiner said something to you, didn't he?"

Not what I'd been expecting, but I went with it. "Yeah, he did. Why?"

Eren shook his head and set his cell phone aside. Something about his air of uncertainty told me that he didn't really know what to say, but that didn't stop him from speaking anyway. "I sort of figured he might," he murmured. "I can't really explain it, I just had a feeling."

From the corner of mine, I watched Eren's eyes as they shifted back and forth between sparing me a glance and looking off to the edge of my leg. He wanted to ask me something, I could tell. So, I let him.

"...What did he say exactly?"

If I didn't feel like getting into too much detail with Hanji, I _really _didn't feel like expanding on the subject with Eren. I needed to get my side of the situation out and in the open before anyone else started claiming that I was going to hurt this poor kid.

"I have a better question." When I said that, Eren perked right up into attention. I wanted to use his alertness to my advantage, and so, with my entire body turning to face him, I went against all of the times my mother had warned me about the detrimental effects of doing so, and stared directly into the sun. "Do you trust me, Eren?"

Trust was a mighty big favor to ask of someone, and I'm not even entirely certain if one can even call it a "favor". Trust is something that's earned over time, and once it's gone, it's gone forever. No matter how much rekindling is done, or how many times "I'm sorry" is said, the trust that was once held together by a bond of steel will only ever be supported by a thin strip of aluminum.

Because of my question, Eren couldn't have been caught more off of his guard even if he'd tried, but he didn't show his shock through a jolted movement in his body; his surprise was in his eyes. Wide and full of wonder, Eren looked at me as if I had just asked him to do a backflip through a ring of fire. But hey, that's what trusting someone essentially was, wasn't it? Albeit, soon enough, his excitable irises toned down a bit, as he was able to process the depth of what I was asking him - it was a simple yes or no question, but depending on Eren's answer, the "relationship" that we currently held could very well become effected by it.

Scratch that. Whether he said yes or not, something was definitely going to change between us. The only question was, was it going to be for better, or for worse? And even that was debatable.

Understandably, Eren allowed my question to sink in for a bit longer before answering. If he said yes too quickly, it would make him sound desperate, potentially leading me to believe that he was only saying such a thing as a ploy to getting something of gain. And if he said no too quickly, well, then he'd just look like a jerk. At the end of the day, he was doing exactly what I wanted him to be doing, and that was think. I wanted him to think about his answer and really weight out his options, before saying something that he could potentially regret.

So, when he said, "Yes, Levi. I do trust you," I knew that he had meant it.

From the clench in his jaw, to the point of his toes, everything about Eren's body language spoke the truth. He_ honestly_ trusted me, and if I said that that didn't make me feel just the slightest bit of relief, I would be lying.

Oh, but Eren didn't stop there. Somehow regaining the momentum of a lost conversation, he continued to express the feelings of trust that he held for me. "You've given me no reason to doubt you, Levi," he explained, further adding, "In fact, you've given me every reason _to _trust you. And you know, I have a bad feeling that whatever Reiner talked to you about while I wasn't there triggered you to ask me that question."

"Well, you're not wrong," I said, as I sighed, "but I also wanted to know whether or not you trust me for my own sake, as well. I mean, I'm not one for slapping labels on people, but I think that you and I can agree that we've reached the point in whatever 'this' is that's between us where I wouldn't even know what to call it, even if I _did_ feel like putting a label on it."

Knowing that I was right, Eren nodded. "I think I get it," he responded, "and I think I know where Reiner was coming from. He was probably saying something about our relationship, right? How he doesn't approve of it?"

Close, but not quite. While the disapproval was implied, it wasn't verbally stated. Still, Eren was a little off the mark.

"It was more like, don't be the person who hurts him again."

I watched as Eren's face dropped. He'd gone from looking pleasantly content with our conversation to being utterly betrayed by it. "...What?" he spoke, in no more than a whisper. "What do you mean?"

Eren was asking the wrong question. He knew what I meant, he simply didn't understand why I was saying what I was. I wasn't the one to blame for his confusion; if anything, he should have been asking Reiner - and even Hanji, for that matter. But even if it wasn't the question he'd asked, I answered him according to what he'd been meaning to say.

"It would seem that your roommate is under the impression that I'm going to hurt you, or something like that. Hell, even Hanji's been thinking the same thing. And it's like, I don't understand why they've come to that assumption? I've been faithful to each and every one of the partners that I've spent time with in the past, and what? They were the ones who weren't faithful."

I didn't mean to out myself and my past experiences with accepting infidelity. Regardless of whether I'd meant to say it or not, Eren had still heard me, and in turn, he'd acquired a somber, yet longing look in his eyes - it was a look of understanding, as well as of sympathy. The pain that he'd felt? Oh, yeah. I'd felt it, too. But again, unlike Eren, I'd been prepared for it. My rose-colored glasses had been rose-colored no more.

Just when I'd thought that the shift in our topic had formed a rift between us, I felt something gentle caress my thigh. The feeling was wavering, as if testing the waters of my consent, and just as my vision met with the cause of said feeling, Eren's hand quickly withdrew itself from my leg. Was he trying to comfort me? How cute; how unnecessary. "If you want to touch me, you can. Just don't let the reasoning behind your touches be for something remorseful."

I didn't need Eren's pity, and he didn't need mine. We were merely the product of lies and deceit. Our pain and our progress were what made us some of those most trustworthy people in the world - at least, that's what I liked to believe about myself. I wasn't sure about Eren's point of view on the matter, and honestly, I didn't feel like asking him. How awkward would that be, right? _"So, hey, because we were both cheated on, that probably makes us two of the most trusted people in the world, right? Crazy, huh?" _Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

As I pondered my momentary idiocy, I felt that fleeting hand cascade up and down my thigh again, before promptly stationing itself dead center. What was Eren doing exactly? Was he trying to get my attention? Again, completely unnecessary. He already had me, in more ways than one. What did he want?

"I know you wouldn't hurt me." Eren's voice had been so soft that if I hadn't been listening, I would have missed what he'd said. Maybe that was why he touched my leg for a second time; maybe it wasn't just a ploy to grab my attention, but a tactic to heighten it, as well. Nicely done. I was impressed.

Then again, Eren was probably just touching my leg, because he wanted to touch my leg.

Seeing as I'd been too preoccupied by Eren's hand to come up with a clever response, he repeated himself, this time speaking in a tone that was much more firm and a lot more demanding of an answer. "Levi, I know you wouldn't hurt me. And I might as well say this now, but you should probably know that I wouldn't hurt you, either."

I hadn't picked up on it the first time he'd said it, but Eren was specifically using the word "wouldn't" instead of "won't". Future tense. And that was absolutely correct. Why say that I won't hurt him when there was nothing to hurt? We weren't together. We weren't dating. Just a minute ago, we'd verbally expressed that we didn't even know what the Hell we were to each other. And so why would Eren say that I "won't" hurt him when "wouldn't" makes so much more sense?

Feeling as daring as I usually did, I wore a quirked brow and tilted my head sideways. It was time we settled this once and for all. "Is that a promise, Eren?" I asked, leaving him in the dark to pick and choose what he thought I'd meant by that question. Surprisingly enough, Eren and I were two entities who surfed on the same wavelength more often than not, so it didn't take long for him to catch onto my drift. We were being incredibly roundabout about it, but the basis of the question was still there.

Basically, we were asking each other out. It was as simple as that, only our method of doing so was horrendously discrete and kind of confusing.

Just to make sure that we were still on the same page, I rested my hand against Eren's. Even with the considerable amount of time that had passed, he'd still kept his hand firmly clasped against my thigh. Amazing. Actually, who was I kidding? I kind of liked it.

"Yeah, I guess it is," Eren eventually said. After I'd placed my hand on top of his, he'd been too preoccupied with staring at it to even focus on what I'd asked him. For a minute there, I was almost getting ready to repeat myself. But alas, no repetition was needed. Eren had heard me loud and clear, and from that point on, all that was left was to move forward. "So, uh... Should I start keeping my promise now?"

Damn, he was adorable. I liked him. I really liked.

As if the answer wasn't already obvious, I encouraged him by giving him a prompting nod, to which he immediately acquired a pep in his step and clenched his hand into a steady fist. "Then let's start over, Levi."

Wait, what? Why were we going to start over? If anything, we should be pressing onward, not receding back. Eren wasn't making any sense.

Detecting my confusion, Eren slipped his hand from my hold and stood up from the tattoo chair that we'd both been seated on. After straightening out his shirt and clearing his throat, he extended the same hand that I'd been holding forward, enticing me to shake it.

"Hey there," he spoke, seemingly as if he were introducing himself for the very first time. "I'm Eren Yeager, and I'd like to get to know you better. Can I have your number?"

How charming.

It was true that even after two months of service, three painted canvases, and four or five kisses later, Eren and I _still _hadn't exchanged personal phone numbers. It was almost embarrassing, really. And so, with my hand meeting his own in a brief, but firm shake, I shrugged and said what felt like the obvious at this point.

"Yeah, sure. Why not." Yeah. I really liked him.

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_And there we have it! More and more relationship progression! Now Eren and Levi are "dating" technically! At long last, right? It only took them fourteen chapters to get together, pffff._

_I also apologize for how late this chapter is being published. You guys were spoiled last week with such an early update that this must have felt so much later! I really do apologize! I'll try to work harder next time!_

_As for now, though, I really do hope that you enjoyed this chapter! From here on out, feelings and such are continuously going to develop between Levi and Eren, so I hope you're ready for it! (:_

_And as always, thank you for taking the time to read! I truly always appreciate it!_

_- Chappy_


	15. Grey

I didn't get any sleep that night, and neither did Eren.

I felt like I was back in college, feeding off of a stupid crush that was already starting to flourish into something more. It was almost pathetic for a man of my age to be getting so excited over having someone else's phone number, but Eren wasn't exactly contributing to - or against - the cause.

We texted each other until the early hours of the morning, when all surrounding sound ceased to exist, and the only noises that could be heard were the faint, electronic clicks from my cell phone's display keys, as well as the gentle laughter that rumbled within my chest when Eren happened to reply with something funny...which was surprisingly often.

It was amazing how someone's entire personality could change, when a technological barrier was placed in front of them. It was shameful to admit, but texting Eren somehow seemed more bearable than actually chatting with him face-to-face. Granted, he used a fair amount of winky faces and tongue emoticons in his text speech, not having to actually deal with his arrogant attitude within the same space at the same time gave me the opportunity to think of craftier responses than I'd originally been coming up with.

For example, when Eren had asked me something pretty snarky around the midnight hour, what I ended up replying with left him speechless for a good four or five minutes. When I brought attention to his evident pause, he claimed to have needed to use the bathroom. That was no excuse. Eren was probably one of those people who brought their cell phones into the bathroom with them, when they used the facilities. Not that it was something I liked to imagine, but I could all but see him flicking through app after app as he waited for nature's call. Tch, disgusting.

Back to Eren's question, he'd asked me if I had ever painted something so beautiful that I couldn't even believe my own abilities. By itself, that question have been fine and dandy, but a few seconds later, after he'd already hit send, he just _had_ to add _"__**You know, like me?**__" _- winky face.

Using his confidence to my advantage, I owned up to my late-night, painting escapades and responded with something along the lines of, _"__**Actually, yeah. You've been an inspiration for quite a few of my personal paintings. I have three of them propped up in my studio right now.**__"_

Cue Eren's five minutes of silence.

It felt good having the upper hand over him for once. Alright, who was I kidding? It felt _great_. Simply knowing that Eren must have been staring blankly at the screen of his cell phone, unable to fathom the English language or how to use it was enough for me.

After revisiting the idea of the alphabet, Eren had typed back something like, _"__**You can't be serious**__," _or maybe it was more like _"__**I call bluff.**__" _But it was no bluff. I was in too deep for any of it - any of my feelings or any of my thoughts - to be a bluff. And if Eren truly didn't believe what I was saying (well, typing), then...

_"**Why don't you just come over and see for yourself?**"_

The invitation hadn't been immediate, but like the idiot that Eren was, he replied with three question marks, before saying, _"__**What? Right now?**__"_

It took everything in me to stop my thumbs from replying with something sarcastic like they'd been used to doing all night. Instead, I took a shockingly softer approach and set up an actual date and time for Eren to come over. _"__**No, not now, obviously.**__"_Although, apparently, it wasn't all that obvious._ "__**How about on Friday after 7PM?**__"_

Hanji and I usually closed the shop earlier on Fridays. Surprisingly, not many people scheduled tattooing sessions in the later hours of the day, so with nothing better to do, we tended to lock up around 6PM and grabbed something to eat together. It's kind of been an unwritten ritual between the two of us for the past couple of years. She'll probably be baffled, if not a little hurt, to hear that I have different plans scheduled for the evening.

_"**Can we make it 8PM? I have a study group at 6:30, and we usually take a break to eat dinner.**"_

Well, I'll be damned. Eren _actually _studies? Then again, if my recollection of college life is accurate, most study groups rarely do any actual studying. Most of the time, they're just for show. I would have called him out on it, but I could feel the fighter within me starting to fade.

_"__**That's fine. Don't expect me to give you more food when you come over, though.**__"_ I'd meant that lightheartedly, but also not entirely. I had no idea what kind of foods Eren liked or didn't like. The only thing we'd actually consumed in the presence of one another was ice cream. I'd have to remind myself to pick up a carton of mint chocolate chip on my way home on Friday, you know, just in case. Damn it. Just thinking about that stupid flavor of ice cream reminded me of our first kiss. I wasn't remembering it for the good or for the bad; I was remembering it in a way that left me with a minty taste in my mouth, craving for more.

Eren stopped sending replies around 4AM. The last message he'd sent was something about how he couldn't wait to see how I'd painted the pictures he'd given me. I figured that was a good place to let things lie, otherwise our sleep-deprived brains might have meshed with our overly affectionate tongues, and we could have ended up saying some pretty stupid things. I mean, don't get me wrong, we'd already said some pretty stupid things, but tired, nonsensical babble was even worse.

The image of Eren laying on his bed, curled up in a half-fetal form with his cell phone clutched to his chest, was almost too vivid that my mind refused to think of anything else. Eren wasn't in his bedroom anymore; he was in my head, defenseless and vulnerable, and until I got my feet moving and my fingers stroking, in my head was where he would stay.

While Eren had pleasant dreams about whatever it is that kids his age dream about, I was seated on the floor of my studio with my fist in a jar of honey-colored paint. Normally, I'd use this type of color for highlights only, but seeing as the image I was attempting to depict was of Eren while he was sleeping, my absolute instinct was to do everything opposite of what I'd normally do.

But hey, that's pretty much my entire mantra for when I'm painting pictures of Eren, anyway.

Painting that canvas took up the better portion of what little of the night there was left. Just as I was adding the finishing touches to Eren's cheeks and chest, a horrifying sight began to spill through the windows of my studio: the sunrise. The Godawful sunrise.

Unable to contain my disdain for nature's alarm clock, I groaned audibly before standing up and stretching out my limbs. Hearing crack after pop was not only a relief, but also a grim reminder of just how long I'd been sitting down. If the sun was already coming up, it had to have been sometime after 7. Hell, I was going to be late for work.

I didn't exactly know what disturbed me more; the fact that I'd stayed up all night with thoughts consumed by Eren, or the fact that I'd stayed up all night and I didn't feel like death. I might have looked like it, but I didn't feel tired at all and it was kind of weird. There was nothing to complain about, though. If that's the way my body wanted to play, then so be it.

That rush of adrenaline started to slip away as soon as I got stepped into the shower.

The warmth that encompassed me was like a blanket of lethargy. I wanted nothing more than to rest my head against the shower wall and let myself fade away for just a minute or two. I knew that if I gave myself just that simple, moment's reprieve, I wouldn't have been able to bring myself back, and so I lowered the water's temperature to a much more tepid heat.

It took longer than I'd anticipated to scrub off most of the paint that caked my fingers and my fists, but with just a little bit of grey still embedded beneath my nails, I got out of the shower and got dressed.

I'd gotten into the habit of checking my phone to see what the weather was going to be like for the day, before actually getting dressed. If it was going to be warm all day, I'd wear something light. If it was going to be cold all day, I'd wear something heavy. If it was going to be that awkward "cold in the morning, but warmer toward the afternoon" kind of day, I'd wear something heavy enough, but something that also had the option of being removed. Cardigans and hooded jackets were some of my best friends in the late summer, early autumn months.

As I slid my finger along my cell phone's display screen to unlock it, I noticed that I had one unread text message. It was from Eren - no surprise there.

He'd sent it around thirty minutes ago, which could have been somewhere around the time when I was cursing out the sun, or it could have possibly been when I was just getting into the shower. The concept of time was a blur in the mornings, so I really couldn't tell.

_"**Wow, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you like that. But hey, while I'm messaging you, I need you to tell me your address. I can't exactly come over to your place if I don't know where you live.**"_

True, very true. Seeing as I was scrapped for time, I typed out the address of my apartment as quickly as possible, as well as my room number, before hitting send and switching over to the weather application. Huh. It looked like it was going to be one of those "cold in the morning, but warm in the afternoon" kind of days.

Pulling on a grey cardigan along with dark wash jeans and a simple beige tee, I was halfway out the front door before I noticed that the grey of my cardigan matched almost perfectly with the same shade of grey under my nails. How utterly festive of me. I was impressed with my subconscious self.

Stopping at my usual coffee shop on the way to work, I made small talk with Petra about a new TV show she was currently obsessing over, while Erd fixed my drink. I would have made better sense of what she was saying, had I been mentally sober, but from what I could tell from her excited chatter was that it was something about lifespan of trees. Fascinating.

I ended up taking the shorter route for the rest of my drive to work. It was a route that has its ups and its downs, along with its never ending potholes and heavy construction, which was why I typically tried to avoid it at all costs, but in a pinch, it definitely was a whole lot shorter that my preferred route.

When I finally pulled my car into the shop's parking lot, I had to check the time in order to make sure that I wasn't dreaming. No. No, I wasn't dreaming. It was definitely past 8AM, and yet Hanji's car was no where in sight. Feeling as if I'd played through this scene before, I pulled up to one of my designated parking spots and shifted the gears into park. With my car still running, I reached for my secondary cup holder - the one that wasn't currently occupied by my cup of coffee - and grabbed my cell phone.

My intention had been to see if she had left me any messages saying that she was going to be late or otherwise, but nothing of that nature popped up. Slightly irked by her lack of communication, I killed the engine of my vehicle, grabbed my coffee, and made my way over to the main entrance of the shop, where I unlocked the front door and let myself inside.

I had to say, the shop had a calming aura to it when Hanji - or anyone, for that matter - wasn't around. It almost felt right to just keep the lights off and have everything surrounded by a sheet of darkness, but I was probably only thinking that way because I was running on no sleep and taking a nap sounded like a heavenly idea.

I felt like an elementary school teacher who was about to show their class a movie, as I flicked on only one row of lights. There would always be that one kid who sat in the far back of the classroom, who dared to claim that they were afraid of the dark and needed at least one row of lights on, to which the entire class would groan in disapproval. I always hated that kid. Movies were meant for the dark, not one row of lights.

Enjoying the simplicity of silence while it lasted, I clocked in for the morning and looked over the agenda for the day. It would seem that we only had two appointments scheduled; both of them being in the afternoon, and both of them being Hanji's clients. Fate would have it where two separate people had wanted two separate sketches that Hanji had specifically designed. Fate would also have it that those two separate people just so happened to schedule their appointments on the same day, around the same time. And fate would really have it that an hour after idly shuffling around the shop, tidying things up here and there, that Hanji _still _hadn't shown up yet. By this point, I wasn't even mad anymore; I was starting to get worried.

Hanji always called, or at least sent a text message, when she was planning on being late. There was even one time when she'd called me on my cell phone and through the shop's telephone to announce that she was stuck in traffic and would be approximately three minutes late. Three minutes. Three, stupid minutes. This was an entire hour and I still hadn't heard a single word from her.

I tried calling her home phone to see if maybe she'd slept through her alarm, but that ended up being a no-go. I didn't bother leaving her a voice mail, and went straight to calling her on her cell. When she didn't answer to that, either, I sent her three, rapid-fire text messages to see if she'd respond to an annoying buzz-fest, but again, nothing.

There was only one other reason that I could recall for Hanji being this unavailable, and it was when she and Mike had gotten into their heated arguments and would abruptly call things off. And something told me by the way she'd slowly sauntered into the shop around noontime, looking like a sunken mess, that that was exactly what had happened...again.

"I tried calling you," I said, folding my arms and standing upon her entry. "And texting you."

"I know," she sighed, purposefully refusing to make eye contact. "I didn't feel like looking at my cell phone for the past couple of hours."

"I called your home phone, too." I wasn't going to forget to mention that, especially when her home phone was what I'd called first.

"I haven't been home since last night."

I would have asked where she'd been, but I honestly didn't need to; her face said it all. She must have spent the night at Mike's, only for them to break off things in the morning. That's just how their relationship was. Rocky, unsettled, and completely unpredictable, but full of a passionate romance that one could instantly get drunk off of. Not exactly my cup of coffee, whereas Hanji practically lived for the thrill of surprise after surprise; however, it was that very lifestyle that always seemed to come back and bite her in the end.

"Mike and I broke up," she said, as if it weren't already obvious. The silence must have been getting to her, otherwise she wouldn't have said anything at all. She knew that I already knew what was going on, but something in the absence of sound must have been telling her to say it anyway.

And how does one respond to such a statement, exactly? It's not like it was my place to say I'm sorry; I'd always known that their relationship was in constant danger of ending at the drop of a beat, and I'd verbally expressed my feelings about it on more than one occasion. Maybe that's why Hanji felt so comfortable expressing her fears about my relationship with Eren. Huh. It all made sense now. Well, then. She'd be happy to hear what I had to say, then.

"Eren and I are dating."

I'd neglected to tell her about our sudden switch in relationship status, as well as our cell phone number swap, the day before. And damn, did it feel weird to say that. _Eren and I are dating_. We hadn't officially been on _a date _yet, but we were _dating_.

If you really want to get technical, maybe that trip to the ice cream parlor could have counted as our first date. I mean, we'd even had our first kiss on that night as well, so why not? I'd have to text Eren later to ask him about it, or better yet, I could wait until Friday. That way, I could ask him in person, potentially exposing myself to a flustered reaction that I wouldn't be able to get from a message typed out over a cell phone. Sure, I might be greeted with another, five-minute pause where Eren would claim to have had run off to the bathroom again, but that wouldn't be nearly as priceless as seeing his face light up like neon lights - then again, all of this was only potentially speaking. Like the little brat he was, Eren could have just as easily laughed off my question and flipped it around to his advantage.

However, I'd already made my decision to wait until Friday to ask him about it; I really didn't know what to expect until then.

"You two...you're what?"

I'll admit, it was pretty heartless to turn the attention over to me when Hanji was obviously hurting, but what better way to get her mind off of her own problems when she could worry about mine, right? It wasn't like dating Eren was a problem - it was one-hundred and one problems, actually - but to Hanji...well, she'd probably view things a bit differently.

"When did this happen?"

I shrugged. "Less than twenty-four hours ago. After his roommate left, to be more precise."

"It happened yesterday?"

"Yeah?" For once, I didn't exactly know where she was going with her interrogations. Was she going to berate me for my negligence or congratulate me for my acceptance? I couldn't tell, and to be honest, neither option sounded all that pleasant.

To my surprise, as well as my satisfaction, Hanji let out a sigh and removed her armor. She was done protecting what she couldn't prevent, and Eren's feelings for me were beyond her control; and the same went for my feelings towards him.

"I guess I can't really say much else from what I've already said." Hanji crossed her arms, after rubbing at one of her eyes. She'd been crying; I could see it in the splotches that speckled her face. "I just hope that you two will be able to work out your problems better than Mike and I can."

It was visually painful to see Hanji so hurt. Just what the Hell had the two of them fought over this time? Their last big fight had been over something so stupid that I couldn't even remember what it was, and I'm almost certain that neither of them would have been able to tell me what had happened if I were to ask them about it. Still, Hanji had suffered enough today, so I didn't dare reprimand her for her tardiness. What I _did _dare to do might have been seen as a bit too extreme by some, but you know what? Who cares. It was my shop, so I could do whatever the Hell I wanted with it, and so we closed it up for rest of the day.

It wasn't like Hanji could actually work and work _well_ in the mental state that she was in. In fact, I was actually stunned that she'd even managed to make it to the shop at all. The last time she and Mike had one of their spats, she called in sick. The time before that, she left me a voice mail describing how her heart had been completely shattered and she wouldn't be able to make it in that day. And the time before that, their fallout had happened in the lot right outside of the shop. Needless to say, she left early that day.

I hadn't been exaggerating when I'd said that these feuds between Hanji and her boyfriend (currently ex-boyfriend) happened a lot. The frequency of their break ups was simply so common that whenever they occurred, I immediately knew what to do in order to cheer her up: take her out to eat and pay for everything. Absolutely everything.

It'd be redundant to go through all of the details of our meal together, but that's what we did. After we gave our clients a call and delicately explained our situation to them, we locked up the shop and headed out to eat - and just like I'd promised to, I paid for everything. Everything from the diet Coke that she'd ordered to the twenty percent tip that our waitress rightfully deserved, I paid for it all.

We kept the conversation to a minimum during our meal, which I'm sure she appreciated. She wanted some time to think, and Hell, I could have used some time to think, as well. Unbeknownst to her, I actually had a lot to think about. Forget the fact that my brain was running on toxins, I had to start planning for Eren's coming over on Friday. Like, what would we even do? I didn't have a TV, only a laptop. Maybe we could watch a movie on it. Nah, that was kind of lame. Besides, what if our tastes in movies were completely different?

I was so lost in my plans that I'd almost forgotten Eren's primary reason for coming over: to see the canvases I'd painted. With that thought in mind, I could feel my pulse beginning to race. Those paintings were some of the most personal pieces I'd ever created, and in three days time, I'd been showing them off to the one person whom they should never be seen by.

Damn it. I wasn't sure if I was ready or not.

* * *

Fate really must have had something against me lately, _because_ _as fate would have it_, those three days packed up their belongings, waved their goodbyes, and shipped themselves off at the speed of sound. Within the span of those said three days, Hanji and Mike got back together, a client passed out while I was tattooing a constellation onto her hip, and Eren and I had sent a grand total of five-hundred and forty-five text messages to each other. Seventy-two hours had never gone by so fast.

It was inevitable that the entirety of my Friday _day _had been spent thinking about Eren. He was coming over later that evening and I still had no idea what we were going to do besides look at some canvases. That would take us, what? Five, ten minutes at the most? Things would be all, _"Oh, yeah. Here are the pictures I painted of you, when my thoughts were utterly consumed by you."_ Yeah, because that's not creepy at all.

Unable to keep up with the trending time, I was in a state of disbelief as Hanji and I locked up the shop for the night and got into our separate cars. That was it? The day was already over? I could honestly swear that the both of us had just gotten there. I must have been imagining things. But seriously, where did the day go?

On the ride back to my apartment, I kept the music off and my mind focused. Just like I'd planned to do days beforehand, I'd stopped at one of the drug stores that were located near my place and picked up a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream. It probably wasn't the best brand of ice cream that was out there, and it definitely wouldn't live up to that ice cream parlor's standards of perfection, but if Eren was hungry enough when he came over, it would get the job done...hopefully. Out of all of those messages we'd sent to each other, not a single one of them had read _"__**Are you a picky eater?**__"_

Keeping a level head and an even leveler set of fingers, I unlocked the door to my apartment and allowed myself to get as settled as one could possibly settle when they were expecting company. Eren was the first person - besides Hanji - to come over for a lengthy visit. I felt lost. Should I have gotten changed? Taken a shower? Maybe a spritz of cologne would have been a nice touch.

Nice touch or not, it was too late for anything of the sort, because just as I'd turned toward the bedroom, I heard the rap of a fist against the front door, followed by a faint, yet confident, "Hey, it's me."

You know that feeling you get where your throat kind of just drops into the pit of your stomach, and the only way to pull it back up again is to swallow? That was me, and that was what I was feeling as I'd ventured over to the front door in order to let Eren in.

Unlocking the deadbolts and twisting the knob, I opened the door and peeked out to see who awaited me on the other side - well, obviously it was Eren, but put that kid in a different setting aside from the tattoo shop, and it was like coming face-to-face with a familiar stranger.

"Hey," he said softly, awkwardly shuffling his shoes until I invited him in.

I returned his gentle "hey" with an even softer "hi" and moved aside to allow him entry.

As Eren passed by me, I noticed that he had been holding something in his hand. I _really _noticed it when said thing brushed against my leg, leaving me with a chilling sensation running down my calve. I hadn't asked Eren to bring anything, so why had he? It always confused me when people went out of their way to satisfy others...says the person who went out of his way to pick up mint chocolate chip ice cream on his way home. Damn it.

As I closed the front door and followed Eren into the kitchen - I couldn't stress enough just how small my apartment was; two steps in and you were already in the kitchen - I asked him what was in the bag that he was holding. It was a plastic bag, so obviously it was something that he'd just picked up on his way over. And now that I'd taken a moment to get a better look at it, I'd noticed something awfully similar about it - it was the same type of bag that I'd been given at the very same drug store I'd gone to just under ten minutes ago.

"Oh," Eren said, sounding as if he'd forgotten that he was holding onto something. "It's ice cream."

"Oh, yeah? Which flavor?"

Fate may have been playing mind games with me for the better portion of this week, but as soon as Eren had peeled back the plastic of the bag to show me what was inside, we were once again on healthier terms. Thank goodness.

"It's black cherry," he confessed. "I got it because, uh...it kind of reminded me of our first date." And there it was. The answer I'd been looking for and the flustered visage I'd been dying to see.

This night was already off to a wonderful start.

* * *

_Hi there! Chappy here! :D_

_And Happy Halloween! I know it's technically Saturday morning for most of you, but still! I hope you all had a fun holiday! If you guys did anything special to celebrate the day, I'd be interested to know what you did, because this is what I did! All day. This chapter. Yes. (:_

_It would seem that while Eren and Levi's relationship is growing stronger, Hanji and Mike's is falling apart. *cue The Circle of Life playing in the distance*_

On a final note, can you believe that this fanfic has already reached its fifteenth chapter? I know I've been saying the same thing for a lot of the previous chapters, but we've made it to fifteen! That's a huge milestone! Thank you all for sticking with this fanfic for fifteen, consecutive weeks - and special thank you to those who have been here since week one! Thank you all so very much for your continued support. (:

And of course, with all of that being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you for taking the time to read!

- Chappy


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